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POR“HAPPY HOMES AND THE HEARTS THAT MAKE THEM " 






















































































































































































































































- 
























































M 0 T H ER' 


LESSON. 


FOR “HAPPY HOMES ” 









<D 


APPY^HOMES 


’ and]SD>— 


1° |[THE HEARTS THAT MAKE THEM. 





-~ tZ & by c^>- 


iii »im*a®@ 


Author ok “Self-Help,” “Life of the Stephensons,” “The Huguenots,” “Char¬ 
acter,” “Thrift,” “Duty,” Etc. 






'ffj 


(SareftiUy Hctiisscfc, tmtf| SHattetv 


GRAS. A. GASKGLL, A. m. 

i 


HC HICAGOih 
f. <§). Publishing House. 
H 1882 .K- 



n 0 
























Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1882, by 
CHAS. A. GASKELL. 

In the Office of the Librarian pf Congress, at Washington, D. C. 






ROBABLY no books of the same general type 
were ever written that have so much inter¬ 
ested and inspired to worthy action the various 
classes to whom they were addressed, as have 
the productions of Samuel Smiles. Though written for 
the people of Great Britain, and containing numerous 
paragraphs not at all adopted to American readers, yet 
the large proportion of matter is of such general ap¬ 
plication, embracing, as it does, so vast a range of ex¬ 
perience and testimony, that they have already reached 
a large iale, not only among all classes of English 
speaking people, but also among the people of Conti¬ 
nental Europe. Many books of their class have been 
produced in this country, much of the matter of which 
has been unscrupulously garbled from the various vol¬ 
umes of Mr. Smiles. It has been our purpose, in the 
preparation of this book, to place within the reach 
of our people all of this author’s ethical works, in¬ 
cluding those most recently published, carefully sifting 
from them such matter as has been thought to be of 
local or purely Anglican application, or to be least 
interesting and beneficial to American readers. Mr. 
Smiles’ more lengthy and detailed biographical sketches 
become tiresome to many. The omission of such, and 
in some cases the substitution of lessons from the lives 






iv 


Preface. 

of certain of our own countrymen, while not subtract¬ 
ing from its 'interest with the few, will certainly add 
greatly to that with which the larger circle of readers 
peruse it. These changes and additions have made 
necessary an entirely new index, the laborious prepa¬ 
ration of which none can appreciate but those who 
have had work of this character to do. 

The marked interest which attaches to Mr. Smiles’ 
productions is chiefly due to his happy use of biography. 
Readers who tire of extended biographical histories 
find here groups of the wise and distinguished of earth, 
each giving testimony to the various principles the 
author wishes to inculcate. This method of applying 
the accumulated experience and testimony of the past 
to illustrate and enforce principles, although by no 
means new, is certainly a most effective method of im¬ 
pressing truth. The interest excited by the novel 
arises solely from our interest in the lives and struggles 
of men and women. They are interesting biographies. 
But much more interest should attach to lives actually 
lived and conquests actually made, provided they are 
produced with equal care. 

The home is the epitome of society and government. 
The application of these principles to every member 
of the home—the importance of their inculcation in the 
home where character is chiefly molded—and the value 
of such lessons in making every home what it may be 
and should be, has dictated the title, “ Happy Homes, 
and the Hearts that Make Them.” 

Chas. A. Gaskell. 




CHAPTER I. i 

THE ART OF LIVING; OR MAKING THE MOST OF LIFE. 

Art of Living Exemplified.— Taste an Economist.— Order in 
the Home.— Contrasts in Cottage Life.— Home and 
Comfort.— Method.— Industry and Punctuality.— Good 
Manners.— Cheerfulness.— Amusement.— Influence of 
Music.— Taste in Little Things.— Elegance of Flowers. 
— Common Enjoyments.— Art in the Home__ 

CHAPTER II. 

HEALTHY HOMES. 

Healthy Existence.— Necessity of Pure Air.— Unhealthy 
Homes.— Wholesome Dwellings.— Results of Unclean¬ 
ness.— Domestic Improvement.— Dirt and Immorality. 
— Worship in Washing.— Knowledge of Physiology.— 
Household Management.— Morals and Cookery.— Cor¬ 
bett’s Story.— Female Education. 

CHAPTER III. 

INFLUENCE OF CHARACTER. 

Sphere of Common Duty.— Sustaining Power of Duty.— 
Character Above Learning and Wealth.— Moral Princi¬ 
ples.— Honesty of Character.— Reliableness.— Sheridan 
and Burke.— Character and Circumstances.— Formation 
of Character.— Force of Character.— The Inspiration of 
Energy. — Washington.— Influence of Great Men.— 
Dante.— Character a Great Legacy.— Character and 
Freedom.— Character of Nations. 





VI 


Contents. 


CHAPTER IV. page. 

HOME POWER. 

Home and Civilization.— Domestic Training.— Home Inflm 
ences.— Power of Example.— A Mother’s Love.— Boy¬ 
hood of St. Augustine.— Early Impressions.— Recollec¬ 
tions of Youth.— Power of Good Women.— Johnson 
and Washington.— Cromwell and Wellington.— Brough¬ 
am and Canning.— Curran and Adams.— Mother of the 
Wesleys.— Mothers of the Poets.—Woman’s Sphere... . P* 

CHAPTER V. 

COMPANIONSHIP AND EXAMPLE. 

Influence of Companionship.— Force of Imitation.—Com¬ 
panionship of the Good.— Boyhood of Henry Martin.— 
Paley’s College Life.— Dr. Arnold.— Dugald Stewart.— 

A High Standard of Life.— Admiration and Imitation.— 
Admire Nobly.— Johnson and Boswell.— Young Men’s 
Heroes.— Haydn and Porpora.— The Great Musicians. 

— Consolations of a Well Spent Life.. 120 

CHAPTER VI. 

WORK. 

Pliny on Rural Labor.— The Curse of Idleness.— Causes 01 
Melancholy.— Industry and Leisure.— Work a Universal 
Duty.— The Dignity of Work.— Work and Happiness.— 
Scott and Southey.— Work an Educator of Character.— 
Training to Business.— Literature and Business.— Prac¬ 
tical Ability.— Sir George Lewis.— Work and Overwork. 146 

CHAPTER VII. 

HELPING ONE’S SELF. 

Government and the Individual — National Progress.— 
Caesarism.— James Watt.— Application and Energy.— 
James A. Garfield.— His Career.— Lindsay.— Cobden.— 
Diligence Indispensible.— Thomas A. Edison.—Brough¬ 
am.— Disraeli 


166 




Contents . 


CHAPTER VIII. 

LEADERS OF INDUSTRY-INVENTORS AND PRODUCERS. 

Toil, the Best School.— The History of Pottery.— Bernard 
Palissey.— Search for the Enamel.—His Indomitable 
Spirit.— Josiah Wedgwood’s Career.— Cotton Manu¬ 
facture.— Richard Arkwright.— William Lee.— John 
Heathcoat... . 


CHAPTER IX. 

APPLICATION AND PERSEVERANCE. 

Great Results Attained by Simple Means.— Fortune Favors 
the Industrious.— Industry of Eminent Men.— Power 
Acquired by Repeated Effort.— Sir Robert Peel’s Culti¬ 
vation of Memory.— Faculty Comes by Practice.— Hope 
an Important Element in Character.— Carey the Mission¬ 
ary.— Anecdotes of Dr. Young; Audubon the Ornithol¬ 
ogist; Mr. Carlyle.— Garfield’s Industry.— Buffon a 
Conscientious Worker.— Order in Everything.— Drew’s 
Career.—“Genius is Patience.”.-. 

CHAPTER X. 

HELPS AND OPPORTUNITIES—SCIENTIFIC PURSUITS. 

Discoveries not Accidental.— Intelligent Observation.— Ex¬ 
amples.— Little Things.— Garfield’s Success.— Gar¬ 
field’s Learning.— Garfield’s College Days.— Art of Seiz¬ 
ing Opportunities.— Examples.—Persistent Industry.— 
Value of Time.— Collected Thoughts.— Examples_ 

CHAPTER XI. 

ENERGY AND WILL. 

Force of Purpose.— Determined Effort.— Promptitude and 
Decision.—Energy Characteristic of the Teutonic Race. 
— The Foundations of Strength of Character.— Concen¬ 
tration.— Courageous Working.— Words of Hugh Miller 
and Fowell Buxton.— Power and Freedom of Will.— 
Wellington and “Duty.”—Dr. Livingstone. 


vii 

PACE. 


189 


223 


242 


273 





Vlll 


Contents . 


CHAPTER XII. pace. 

SELF-CULTURE—FACILITIES AND DIFFICULTIES. 

Importance of Self-culture.—Education in Mechanics—Sus¬ 
tained Application.— Well Directed Labor.— Thorough¬ 
ness and Accuracy.— The Right Use of Knowledge.— 
Learning and Wisdom.—Learning and Character.—Self- 
respect.— Knowledge as a Means of Rising.— Low 
Views of Self-culture.— Pleasure.— Robert Nicoll.294 

CHAPTER XIII. 

WORKERS IN ART. 

Close Observation.— Examples.— Indefatigable Activity.— 
Career of Wilkie and Others.— Incessant Study.— Flax- 
man; His Genius and Perseverance; His Brave wife; 
Their Visit to Rome.— Privations Endured by Artists.. 332 

CHAPTER XIV. 

MEN OF BUSINESS. 

Genius and Business.—Great Men of Business.— Practical 
Industry.— Action in Detail.— Accuracy.— Promptitude. 


— Economical Use of Time.— Punctuality.— Honesty.— 

The Rothschilds.358 


CHAPTER XV. 

MONEY—ITS USE AND ABUSE. 

Self-denial.— The use of Money.— Necessity of Economy.— 
Borrowing and Debt.— Early Struggles of Jervis.— Liv¬ 
ing High.— Examples.— Proverbs on Money Making.— 
Energy in Money Making.— Mere Money Making_ 

CHAPTER XVI. 

HABITS OF THRIFT. 

Useful Labors.— Thrift and Civilization.— Economy and 
Capital.— Workmen and Capital.— Uses of Saved Money. 
— Prosperous Times.—Poverty and Pauperism.—Im¬ 
providence.— Examples of Economy. 






Contents. 


IX 


CHAPTER XVII. page. 

METHODS OF ECONOMY. 

Prudent Economy.— Self-improvement.— Tact.— Price of 
Success.— Principle of Association.— Money Thrown 
Away.— Savings of Capital.— Industrial Societies.— 
Successful Co-operation.— Examples.— Secret of its Suc¬ 
cess.— Thrift Conservative.— Deposits in Savings Banks. 417 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

COURAGE. 

Moral Courage.— Martyrs of Science.— Persecution of Great 
Discoverers.— Hostility to New Views.— Devotion and 
Self-sacrifice.— Martyrs of Faith.— Moral Courage.— 
Despotism of Fashion.— The Magnanimous Man.— 
Courage of Women.— Examples.445 

CHAPTER XIX. 

SELF-CONTROL. 

The Value of Discipline.— Supremacy of Self-control.— Vir¬ 
tue of Patience.— Evils of Uncontrolled Temper.— 
Power of Self-restraint.— Instances of Self-denial.— 
Forbearance of Speech—Tyranny of Appetite. 472 

CHAPTER XX. 

DUTY—TRUTHFULNESS. 

Conscience and Will.— The Sense of Honor.— Sacredness 
of Duty.— Freedom of the Individual.— Washington’s 
Sense of Duty.— Nelson.— National Sense of Duty.— 
Truth the Bond of Society.— Career of Wilson. 492 

CHAPTER XXI. 

TEMPER. 

Cheerfulness of Nature.— Great Men Cheerful.— Instances 
of Cheerful Men.— Power of Kindness.— Beneficence 
and Benevolence.— The Shallowness of Discontent.— 
Pleasures of Hope. 510 






X 


Contents . 


CHAPTER XXII. page. 

MANNER—ART. 

Power of Manner.— Politeness.— Relf-restraint. Practical 
Impoliteness.—Good Taste —Instinctive Tact of Wo¬ 
men.— Superficiality of Manner.— Good Humor and 
Simplicity.—Shyness and Reserve.—Love of Home... 524 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

COMPANIONSHIP OF BOOKS. 

Good Books the Best Society — Great Lessons of Biography. / 
— Plutarch.— Humanizing Influence of Books.— Pleas¬ 
ure in Books.— History and Biography.544 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

COMPANIONSHIP IN MARRIAGE. 

The Mission of Man and Woman.— Early Education of Both 
Sexes.— Woman’s Affection.— Culture of Both Sexes.— 

Love an Inspirer and Purifier.— Man in the Home.— 

The Woman’s Kingdom.—The Wife a Counselor.557 

CHAPTER XXV. 

EXAMPLE-MODELS. 

Home Influence.— Parents.— Immortality of Human Deeds. 

— Importance of Good Example.— Personal Influence. 

— Uses of Biography.— Inspiring Books.— Dr. Arnold. 587 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

CHARACTER—THE TRUE GENTLEMAN. 

Value of a Good Name.—Conscience and Character.—Right¬ 
heartedness.—Anecdote of Abernethy.— Importance of 
Good Habits.— Manners and Morals.— Civility and 
Kindness.—The True Gentleman.—A Noble Peasant.. 600 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE DISCIPLINE OF EXPERIENCE. 

Evils of Seclusion.— The School of Experience.— Youthful 
Ardor.— Romance and Reality.— The Apprenticeship of 
Difficulty.— Duty the Aim and End of Life. 620 




CHAPTER I. 


THE ART OF LIVING; OR MAKING THE 
MOST OF LIFE. 

“ Every one is the son of his own work.”— Cervantes. 

HE art of living deserves a place among the 
fine arts. Like literature, it may be ranked 
with the humanities. It is the art of turning 
the means of living to the best account—of 
making the best of everything. It is the art of extract¬ 
ing from life its highest enjoyment, and through it, of 
reaching its highest results. 

To live happily, the exercise of no small degree of 
art is required. Like poetry and painting, the art of 
living comes chiefly by nature; but all can cultivate and 
develop it. It can be fostered by parents and teachers, 
and perfected by self-culture. Without intelligence it 
cannot exist. 

Happiness is not, like a large and beautiful gem, so 
uncommon and rare that all search for it is vain, all 
efforts to obtain it hopeless; but it consists of a series 
of smaller and commoner gems, grouped and set to¬ 
gether, forming a pleasing and graceful whole. Happi¬ 
ness consists in the enjoyment of little pleasures scat¬ 
tered along the common path of life, which in the eager 
search for some great and exciting joy, we are apt to 





12 


Art of Living Exemplified. 

overlook. It finds delight in the performance of com¬ 
mon duties, faithfully and honorably fulfilled. 

The art of living is abundantly exemplified in actual 
life. Take two men of equal means, one of whom 
knows the art of living, and the other not. The one 
has the seeing eye and the intelligent mind. Nature is 
ever new to him, and full of beauty. He can live in 
the present, rehearse the past, or anticipate the glory of 
the future. With him life has a deep meaning, and 
requires the performance of duties which are satisfac¬ 
tory to his conscience, and are therefore pleasurable. 
He improves himself, acts upon his age, helps to elevate 
the depressed classes, and is active in every good work. 
His hand is never tired, his mind is never weary. He 
goes through life joyfully, helping others to its enjoy¬ 
ment. Intelligence, ever expanding, gives him every 
day fresh insight into men and things. He lays down 
his life full of honor and blessing, and his greatest monu¬ 
ment is the good deeds he has done, and the beneficent 
example he has set before his fellow-creatures. 

The other has comparatively little pleasure in life. 
He has scarcely reached manhood ere he has exhausted 
its enjoyments. Money has done everything that it 
could for him, yet he feels life to be vacant and cheer¬ 
less. Traveling does him no good, because, for him, 
history has no meaning. He is only alive to the im¬ 
positions of innkeepers and couriers, and the disagree¬ 
ableness of traveling for days amidst great mountains, 
among peasants and sheep, cramped up in a carriage. 
Picture galleries he feels to be a bore, and he looks into 
them because other people do. When he grows old, 


Taste an Economist . 


13 


and has run the round of fashionable dissipations, and 
there is nothing left which he can relish, life becomes a 
masquerade, in which he recognizes only knaves, hypo¬ 
crites and flatterers. Though he does not enjoy life, 
yet he is terrified to leave it. Then the curtain falls. 
With all his wealth, life has been to him a failure, for 
he has not known the art of living, without which life 
cannot be enjoyed. 

It is not wealth that gives the true zest to life, but 
reflection, appreciation, taste, culture. Above all, the 
seeing eye and the feeling heart are indispensable. 
With these, the humblest lot may be made blessed. 
Labor and toil may be associated with the highest 
thoughts and the purest tastes. The lot of labor may 
thus become elevated and ennobled. Montaigne ob¬ 
serves that “ all moral philosophy is as applicable to a 
vulgar and private life as to the most splendid. Every 
man carries the entire form of the human condition 
within him.” 

Even in material comfort, good taste is the real econ¬ 
omist, as well as an enhancer of joy. Scarcely have 
you passed the door-step of your friend’s house, when 
you can detect whether taste presides within it or not. 
There is an air of neatness, order, arrangement, grace, 
and refinement that gives a thrill of pleasure, though 
you can not define it or explain how it is. There is a 
flower in the window, or a picture against the wall, that 
marks the home of taste. A bird sings at the window¬ 
sill, books lie about, and the furniture, though common, 
is tidy, suitable, and, it may be, even elegant. 

The art of living extends to all the economies of the 


14 


Order in the Home. 


household. It selects wholesome food, and serves it 
with taste. There is no profusion; the fare may be 
very humble, but it has a savor about it; everything is 
so clean and neat, the water so sparkles in the glass, 
that you do not desire richer viands or a more exciting 
beverage. 

Look into another house, and you will see profusion 
enough, without either taste or order. The expendi¬ 
ture is larger, and yet you do not feel “at home” there. 
The atmosphere seems to be full of discomfort. Books, 
hats, shawls, and stockings in course of repair, are 
strewed about. Two or three chairs are loaded with 
goods. The rooms are in confusion. No matter 
how much money is spent, it does not mend matters. 
Taste is wanting, for the manager of the household 
has not yet learned the art of living. 

You see the same contrast in cottage-life. The lot 
of poverty is sweetened by taste. It selects the health¬ 
iest, most open neighborhood, where the air is pure and 
the streets are clean. You see at a glance, by the 
sanded door-step, and the window-panes without a speck 
—perhaps blooming roses or geraniums shining through 
them—that the tenant within, however poor, knows the 
art of making the best of his lot. How different from 
the foul cottage-dwellings you see elsewhere, with the 
dirty children playing in the gutters, the slattern-like 
women lounging by the door-step, and the air of 
sullen poverty that seems to pervade the place! And 
yet the weekly income in the former home may be no 
greater, perhaps even less, than in the other. 

How is it that of two men working in the same field 


Contrasts in Cottage Life . 


15 


or in the same shop, one is merry as a lark; always 
cheerful, well-clad, and as clean as his work will allow 
him to be; comes out on Sunday mornings in his best 
suit to go to church with his family; is never without a 
penny in his purse, and has something besides in the 
savings-bank; is a reader of books and a subscriber to 
a newspaper, besides taking in some literary journal for 
family reading; while the other man, with equal or even 
superior weekly wages, comes to work in the mornings 
sour and sad; is always full of grumbling; is badly clad 
and badly shod; is never seen out of his house on Sun¬ 
days till about mid-day, when he appears in his shirt¬ 
sleeves, his face unwashed, his hair unkempt, his eyes 
bleared and blood-shot; his children left to run about 
the gutters, with no one, apparently, to care for them; 
is always at his last coin, except on Saturday night, and 
then he has a long score of borrowings to repay; be¬ 
longs to no club, has nothing saved, but lives literally 
from hand to mouth; reads none, thinks none, but only 
toils, eats, drinks, and sleeps—why is it that there is so 
remarkable a difference between these two men? 

Simply for this reason: that the one has the intelli¬ 
gence and the art to extract joy and happiness from 
life; to be happy himself, and to make those about him 
happy; whereas the other has not cultivated his intelli 
gence, and knows nothing whatever of the art of either 
making himself or his family happy. With the one, 
life is a scene of loving, helping, and sympathizing; 
of carefulness, forethought, and calculation; of reflec¬ 
tion, action and duty; with the other, it is only a rough 
scramble for meat and drink; duty is not thought of, 


16 


Living ai Home . 

r) 

reflection is banished, prudent forethought is never for 
a moment entertained. 

But look to the result: the former is respected by his 
fellow-workmen and beloved by his family; he is an ex¬ 
ample of well-being and well-doing to all who are 
within reach of his influence; whereas the other is as 
unreflective and miserable as nature will allow him to 
be; he is shunned by good men; his family are afraid 
at the sound of his footsteps, his wife perhaps trem¬ 
bling at his approach; he dies without leaving any 
regrets .behind him, except, it may be, on the part of 
his family, who are left to be maintained by the charity 
of the public, or by the pittance doled out by friends 
and relatives. 

For these reasons, it is worth every man’s while to 
study the important art of living happily. Even the 
poorest man may by this means extract an increased 
amount of joy and blessing from life. The world need 
not be a u vale of tears,” unless we ourselves will it to 
be so. We have the command, to a great extent, over 
our own lot. At all events, our mind is our own pos¬ 
session; we can cherish happy thoughts there; we can 
regulate and control our tempers and dispositions to a 
considerable extent, we can educate ourselves, and 
bring out the better part of our nature, which in most 
men is allowed to sleep a deep sleep; wc can read good 
books, cherish pure thoughts, and lead lives of peace, 
temperance and virtue, so as to secure the respect of 
good men, and transmit the blessing of a faithful ex¬ 
ample to our successors. 

The art of living is best exhibited in the home. The 


Ho?ne and Comfoi't . 17 

first condition of a happy home, where good influences 
prevail over bad ones, is comfort. Where there are 
carking cares, querulousness, untidiness, slovenliness, 
and dirt, there can be little comfort either for man or 
woman. The husband who has been working all day 
expects to have something as a compensation for his 
toil. The least that his wife can do for him is to make 
his house snug, clean and tidy against his home-coming 
at eve. That is the truest economy, the best house¬ 
keeping, the worthiest domestic management, which 
makes the home so pleasant and agreeable that a man 
feels, when approaching it, that he is about to enter a 
sanctuary; and that when there, there is no ale-house 
attraction that can draw him away from it. 

We are not satisfied merely with a home. It must 
be comfortable. The most wretched, indeed, are those 
who have no homes—the homeless! but not less 
wretched are those whose homes are without comfort 
—those of whom Charles Lamb once said, “ The 
homes of the very poor are no homes.” It is com¬ 
fort, then, that is the soul of the home—its essential 
principle, its vital element. 

Comfort does not merely mean warmth, good furni¬ 
ture, good eating and drinking. It means something 
higher than this. It means cleanliness, pure air, order, 
frugality; in a word, house-thrift and domestic govern¬ 
ment. Comfort is the soil in which the human being 
grows, not only physically, but morally. Comfort lies, 
indeed, at the root of many virtues. 

Wealth is not necessary for comfort. Luxury re¬ 
quires wealth, but not comfort. A poor man’s home, 
2 


18 


Comfortable People . 

moderately supplied with the necessaries of life, pre¬ 
sided over by a cleanly, frugal housewife, may contain 
all the elements of comfortable living. Want of com¬ 
fort is for the most part caused, not so much by the 
absence of sufficient means as by the absence of the 
requisite knowledge of domestic management. 

Comfort, it must be admitted, is in a great measure 
relative . What is comfort to one man would be misery 
to another. Even the commonest mechanic of this day 
would consider it miserable to live after the style of 
the nobles a few centuries ago—to sleep on straw beds, 
and live in rooms littered with rushes. William the 
Conquerer had neither a shirt to his back nor a pane 
of glass to his windows. Queen Elizabeth was one of 
of the first to wear stockings. All the queens before 
her were stockingless. 

Comfort depends as much on persons as on “ things.” 
It is out of the character and temper of those who 
govern homes that the feeling of comfort arises, much 
more than out of handsome furniture, heated rooms, or 
household luxuries and conveniences. 

Comfortable people are kindly-tempered. Good 
temper may be set down as an invariable condition of 
comfort. There must be peace, mutual forbearance, 
mutual help, and disposition to make the best of every¬ 
thing. “ Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than 
a stalled ox and hatred therewith.” 

Comfortable people are persons of common sense, 
discretion, prudence, and economy. They have a natu¬ 
ral affinity for honesty and justice, goodness and truth. 
They do not run into debt, for that is a species of dis- 


19 


Beneficence of House-thrift . 

honesty. They live within their means, and lay by 
something for a rainy day. They provide for the 
things of their own household, yet they are not want¬ 
ing in hospitality and benevolence on fitting occasions. 
And what they do is done without ostentation. 

Comfortable people do everything in order. They 
are systematic, steady, sober, industrious. They dress 
comfortably. They adapt themselves to the season— 
neither shivering in winter, nor perspiring in summer. 
They do not toil after a “ fashionable appearance.” 
They spend more on warm stockings than on gold 
rings, and prefer healthy, good bedding to gaudy 
window curtains. 

The organization of the home depends, for the most 
part, upon woman. She is necessarily the manager of 
every family and household. How much, therefore, 
must depend upon her intelligent co-operation! Man’s 
life revolves round woman. She is the sun of his 
social system. She is the queen of domestic life. The 
comfort of every home mainly depends upon her—upon 
her character, her temper, her power of organization, 
and her business management. A man may be econ¬ 
omical, but unless there be economy at home, his fru¬ 
gality will be comparatively useless. “ A man cannot 
thrive,” the proverb says, “ unless his wife let him.” 

House-thrift is homely, but beneficent. Though un¬ 
seen of the world, it makes many people happy. It 
works upon individuals, and by elevating them, it ele¬ 
vates society itself. It is, in fact, a recipe of infallible 
efficacy for conferring the greatest possible happiness 
upon the greatest possible number. Without it, legis- 


20 


Method . 


lation, benevolence and philanthropy are mere pallia¬ 
tives; sometimes worse than useless, because they hold 
out hopes which are for the most part disappointed. 

How happy does a man go forth to his labor or his 
business, and how doubly happy does he return from it, 
when he knows that his means are carefully husbanded 
and wisely applied by a judicious and well-managing 
wife! Such a woman is not only a power in her own 
house, but her example goes forth among her neigh¬ 
bors, and she stands before them as a model and a pat¬ 
tern. The habits of her children are formed after her 
habits; her actual life becomes the model after which 
they unconsciously mold themselves; for example 
always speaks more eloquently than words; it is instruc¬ 
tion in action—wisdom at work. 

First among woman’s qualities is the intelligent use 
of her hands and fingers. Every one knows how use¬ 
ful, how indispensable to the comfort of a household, 
is the tidy, managing, handy woman. Pestalozzi, with 
his usual sagacity, has observed that half the education 
of a woman comes through her fingers. There are 
wisdom and virtue at her finger-ends. But intellect 
must also accompany thrift, they must go hand-in-hand. 
A woman must not only be clever with her fingers, 
but possessed of the power of organizing household 
work. 

According^, to manage a household efficiently, there 
must be method. Without this, work can not be got 
through satisfactorily, either in offices, workshops, or 
households. By arranging work properly, by doing 
everything at the right time, with a view to the econ- 


Industry and Punctuality . 21 

omy of labor, a large amount of business can be ac¬ 
complished. Muddle flies before method, and con¬ 
fusion disappears. There is also a method in spend¬ 
ing—in laying out money—which is as valuable to the 
housewife as method is in accomplishing her work. 
Money slips through the fingers of some people like 
quicksilver. We have already seen that many men 
are spendthrifts. But many women are the same, at 
least they do not know how to expend their husbands’ 
earnings to the best advantage. You observe things 
very much out of place—frills and ruffles and ill-darned 
stockings, fine bonnets and clouted shoes, silk gowns 
and dirty petticoats, while the husband goes about 
ragged and torn, with scarcely a clean thing about him. 

Industry is, of course, essential. This is the soul of 
business. But without method, industry will be less 
productive. Industry may sometimes look like confu¬ 
sion, but the methodical and industrious woman gets 
through her work in a quiet, steady style—without fuss, 
or noise, or dust-clouds. 

Prudence is another important nousehold qualifica¬ 
tion. Prudence comes from cultivated judgment, it 
means practical wisdom. It has reference to fitness, to 
propriety. It judges of the right thing to be done, and 
of the right way of doing it. It calculates the means, 
order, time, and method of doing. Prudence learns 
much from experience, quickened by knowledge. 

Punctuality is another eminently household qualifica¬ 
tion. How many grumblings would be avoided in 
domestic life by a little more attention being paid to 
this virtue. Late breakfasts and late dinners, “ too 


22 Management of Temper. 

late ” for church and market, “ cleanings ” out of time, 
and u washings ” protracted till midnight, bills put off 
with a u call again to-morrow,” engagements and prom¬ 
ises unfulfilled—what a host of little nuisances spring 
to mind at thought of the unpunctual housewife. The 
unpunctual woman, like the unpunctual man, becomes 
disliked, because she consumes our time, interferes with 
our plans, causes uneasy feelings, and virtually tells us 
that we are not of sufficient importance to cause her to 
be more punctual. To the business man time is money, 
and to the business woman it is more—it is peace, 
comfort, and domestic prosperity. 

Perseverance is another good household habit. Lay 
down a good plan, and adhere to it. Do not be turned 
from it without a sufficient reason. Follow it diligently 
and faithfully, and it will yield fruits in good season. 
If the plan be a prudent one, based on practical wisdom, 
all things will gravitate toward it, and a mutual depen¬ 
dence will gradually be established among all the parts 
of the domestic system. 

We might furnish numerous practical illustrations of 
the truth of these remarks, but our space will not 
permit, and we must leave the reader to supply them 
from his or her own experience. 

There are many other illustrations which might be 
adduced of the art of making life happy. The man¬ 
agement of the temper is an art full of beneficent 
results. By kindness, cheerfulness, and forbearance 
we can be happy almost at will,* and at the same time 
spread happiness about us on every side. We can 
encourage happy thoughts in ourselves and others. 


Good Manners . 


23 


We can be sober in habit. What can a wife and her 
children think of an intemperate husband and father? 
We can be sober in language, and shun cursing and 
swearing—the most useless, unmeaning, and brutal of 
vulgarities. Nothing can be so silly and unmeaning— 
not to say shocking, repulsive, and sinful—as the oaths 
so common in the mouths of vulgar swearers. They 
are profanation without purpose; impiety without prov¬ 
ocation; blasphemy without excuse. 

This leads us to remark, in passing, that in this 
country we are not sufficiently instructed in the art of 
good manners. We are rather gruff, and sometimes 
unapproachable. Manners do not make the man, as 
the proverb alleges; but manners make the man much 
more agreeable. A man may be noble in his heart, 
true in his dealings, virtuous in his conduct, and yet 
unmannerly. Suavity of disposition and gentleness of 
manners give the finish to the true gentleman. 

By good manners we do not mean etiquette. This 
is only a conventional set of rules adopted by what is 
called “good society;” and many of the rules of eti¬ 
quette are of the essence of rudeness. Etiquette does 
not permit genteel people to recognize in the streets a 
man with a shabby coat, though he be their brother. 
Etiquette is a liar in its “ not at home”—ordered to be 
told by servants to callers at inconvenient seasons. 

Good manners include many requisites; but they 
chiefly consist in politeness, courtesy, and kindness. 
They cannot be taught by rule, but, they may be 
taught by example. It has been said that politeness is 
the art of showing men, by external signs, the internal 


24 


Habitual Politeness. 


regard we have for them. But a man may be perfectly 
polite to another without necessarily having any regard 
for him. Good manners are neither more nor less than 
beautiful behavior. It has been well said that “ a beau¬ 
tiful form is better than a beautiful face, and a beautiful 
behavior is better than a beautiful form; it gives a 
higher pleasure than statues or pictures; it is the finest 
of the fine arts.’' 

Manner is the ornament of action; indeed, a good 
action without a good manner of doing it is stripped of 
half its value. A poor fellow gets into difficulties, and 
solicits help of a friend. He obtains it, but it is with a 
u There —take that; but I don’t like lending.” The 
help is given with a kind of kick, and is scarcely ac¬ 
cepted as a favor. The manner of the giving long 
rankles in the mind of the acceptor. Thus good man¬ 
ners mean kind manners, benevolence being the pre¬ 
ponderating element in all kinds of pleasant intercourse 
between human beings. 

A story is told of a poor soldier having one day 
called at the shop of a hair-dresser, who was busy with 
his customers, and asked relief, stating that he had 
staid beyond his leave of absence, and unless he could 
get a lift on the coach, fatigue and severe punishment 
awaited him. The hair-dresser listened to his story 
respectfully, and gave him a guinea. “ God bless } 7 ou, 
sir!” exclaimed the soldier, astonished at the amount, 
“how can I repay you? I have nothing in the world 
but this ”—pulling out a dirty piece of paper from his 
pocket; “it is a recipe for making blacking; it is the 
best that was ever seen. Many a half-guinea I have 


Habitual Politeness . 


25 


had for it from the officers, and many bottles I have 
sold. May you be able to get something for it to repay 
you for your kindness to the poor soldier!,” Oddly 
enough, that dirty piece of paper proved worth half a 
million of money to the hair-dresser. It was no less 
than the recipe for the famous Day & Martin’s black¬ 
ing; the hair-dresser being the late wealthy Mr. Day, 
whose manufactory is one of the notabilities of the 
metropolis. 

Good manners have been supposed to be a peculiar 
mark of gentility, and that the individual exhibiting 
them has been born in some upper class of society. 
But the poorest classes may exhibit good manners to¬ 
ward each other, as well as the richest. One may be 
polite and kind toward others, without a penny in the 
purse. Politeness goes very far, yet it costs nothing; 
it is the cheapest of commodities. But we want to be 
taught good manners as well as other things. Some 
happy natures are a to the manor born.” But the bulk 
of men need to be taught manners, and this can only be 
efficiently done in youth. 

We have said that working-men might study good 
manners with advantage. Why should they not 
respect themselves and each other? It is by their 
demeanor toward each other—in other words, by their 
manners—that self-respect and mutual respect are indi¬ 
cated. We have been struck by the habitual politeness 
of even the poorest classes on the Continent. The 
workman lifts his cap and respectfully salutes his fel¬ 
low-workman in passing. There is no sacrifice of 
manliness in this, but rather grace and dignity. The 


26 


French Manners . 


working-man, in respecting his fellow, respects himself 
and his order. There is kindness in the act of recogni¬ 
tion, as well as in the manner in which it is denoted. 

We might learn much from the French people in 
this matter. They are not only polite to each other, 
but they have a great respect for property. Some may 
be disposed to doubt this, after the recent destruction 
of buildings in Paris. But the Communists must be 
regarded as altogether exceptional people; and to un¬ 
derstand the French character, we must look to the 
body of the population scattered throughout France. 
There we find property much more respected by the 
people than among ourselves. Even the beggar re¬ 
spects the fruit by the roadside, although there is no¬ 
body to protect it. The reason of this is, that France 
is a nation of small proprietors; that property is much 
more generally diffused and exposed; and parents of 
even the lowest class educate their children in careful¬ 
ness of and fidelity to the property of others. 

This respect for property is also accompanied with 
respect for the feelings of others, which constitutes 
what is called good manners. This is carefully incul¬ 
cated in the children of all ranks in France. They are 
very rarely rude. They are civil to strangers. They 
are civil to each other. Mr. Laing, in his “ Notes of a 
Traveler,” makes these remarks, “ This reference to 
the feelings of others in all that we do is a moral habit 
of great value when it is generally diffused, and enters 
into the home-training of every family. It is an edu¬ 
cation both of the parent and child in morals, carried 
on through the medium of external manners. * * 


Cheerfulness . 27 

It is a fine distinction of the French national character, 
and of social economy, that practical morality is more 
generally taught through manners, among and by the 
people themselves than in any country in Europe.” 

The same kindly feeling might be observed through¬ 
out the entire social intercourse of working-men with 
each other. There is not a moment in their lives in 
which the opportunity does not occur for exhibiting 
good manners—in the workshop, in the street, and at 
home. Provided there be a wish to please others by 
kind looks and ways, the habit of combining good 
manners with every action will soon be formed. It is 
not merely the pleasure a man gives to others by being 
kind to them: he receives tenfold more pleasure himself. 
The man who gets up and offers his chair to a woman, 
or to an old man—trivial though the act may seem— 
is rewarded by his own heart, and a thrill of pleasure 
runs through him the moment he has performed the 
kindness. 

Work-people need to practice good manners toward 
each other the more, because they are under the neces¬ 
sity of constantly living with each other and among 
each other. They are in constant contact with their 
fellow-workmen, whereas the richer classes need not 
mix with men unless they choose, and then they can 
select whom they like. The working-man’s happiness 
depends much more upon the kind looks, words, and 
acts of those immediately about him than the rich 
man’s does. It is so in the workshop, and it is the same 
at home. There the workman cannot retire into his 
study, but must sit among his family, by the side of his 


28 


Amusement. 


wife, with his children about him. And he must either 
live kindly with them—performing kind and obliging 
acts toward his family, or he must see, suffer, and en¬ 
dure the intolerable misery of reciprocal unkindness. 

Admitted that there are difficulties in the way of 
working-men cultivating the art of good manners; that 
their circumstances are often very limited, and their 
position unfavorable—yet no man is so poor but that 
he can be civil and kind if he choose; and to be civil 
and kind is the very essence of good manners. Even 
in the most adverse circumstances, a man may try to 
do his best. If he do—if he speak and act courteously 
and kindly to all—the result will be so satisfactory, so 
self-rewarding, that he cannot but be stimulated to per¬ 
severe in the same course. He will diffuse pleasure 
about him in the home, make friends of his work-fel¬ 
lows, and be regarded with increased kindness and 
respect by every right-minded employer. The civil 
workman will exercise increased power among his 
class, and gradually induce them to imitate him by his 
persistent steadiness, civility and kindness. Thus Ben¬ 
jamin Franklin, when a workman, reformed the habits 
of an entire workshop. 

Then, besides the general pleasure arising from the 
exercise of good manners, there is a great deal of 
healthful and innocent pleasure to be derived from 
amusements of various kinds. One cannot be always 
working, eating and sleeping. There must be time for 
relaxation, time for mental pleasures, time for bodily 
exercise. 

There is a profound meaning in the word “ amuse- 


Recreation. 


29 


ment;” much more than most people are disposed to 
admit. In fact, amusement is an important part of 
education. It is a mistake to suppose that the boy or 
the man who plays at some outdoor game is wasting 
his time. Amusement of any kind is not wasting time, 
but economizing life. 

Relax and exercise frequently, if you would enjoy • 
good health. If you do not relax, and take no exercise, 
the results will soon appear in bodily ailments which 
always accompany sedentary occupations. “ The stu¬ 
dents,” says Lord Derby, “who think they have not 
time for bodily exercise will, sooner or later, find time 
for illness.” 

There are people in the world who would, if they 
had the power, hang the heavens about with crape, 
throw a shroud over the beautiful and life-giving bosom 
of the planet, pick the bright stars from the sky, veil 
the sun with clouds, pluck the silver moon from her 
place in the firmament, shut up our gardens and fields, 
and all the flowers with which they are bedecked, and 
doom the world to an atmosphere of gloom and cheer¬ 
lessness. There is no reason or morality in this, and 
there is still less religion. 

Temperance reformers have not sufficiently consid¬ 
ered how much the drinking habits of the country are 
the consequences of gross tastes, and of the too limited 
opportunities which exist in this country for obtaining 
access to amusements of an innocent and improving 
tendency. The workman’s tastes have been allowed 
to remain uncultivated; present wants engross his 
thoughts; the gratification of his appetites is his highest 


30 


Influence of Music . 

pleasure, and when he relaxes, it is to indulge immode¬ 
rately in beer or whisky. The Germans were at one 
time the drunkenest of nations. They are now among 
the soberest. “ As drunken as a German boor,” was a 
common proverb. How have they been weaned from 
drink? Principally by education and music. 

Music has a most humanizing effect. The cultiva¬ 
tion of the art has a most favorable influence upon pub¬ 
lic morals. It furnishes a source of pleasure in every 
family. It gives home a new attraction. It makes 
social intercourse more cheerful. Father Mathew fol¬ 
lowed up his temperance movement by a singing move¬ 
ment. He promoted the establishment of musical 
clubs all over Ireland, for he felt that, as he had taken 
the people’s whisky from them, he must give them some 
wholesome stimulus in its stead. He gave them mu¬ 
sic. Singing-classes were established to refine the 
taste, soften the manners, and humanize the mass of the 
Irish people. But we fear that the example set by 
Father Mathew has already been forgotton. 

“ What a fulness of enjoyment,” says Channing, u has 
our Creater placed within our reach, by surrounding us 
with an atmosphere which may be shaped into sweet 
sounds! And yet this goodness is almost lost upon us, 
through want of culture of the organ by which this pro¬ 
vision is to be enjoyed.” 

How much would the general cultivation of the gift 
of music improve us as a people! Children ought to 
learn it in schools, as they do in Germany. The voice 
of music would then be heard in every household. Our 
old English glees would no longer be forgotten. Men 


31 


Taste in Little Things. 

and women might sing in the intervals of their work, 
as the Germans do in going to and coming from their 
work. The work would not be worse done, because it 
was done amidst music and cheerfulness. The breath 
of society would be sweetened, and pleasure would be 
linked with labor. 

Why not have some elegance in even the humblest' 
home? We must of course have cleanliness, which is 
the special elegance of the poor. But why not have 
pleasant and delightful things to look upon? There is 
no reason why the humbler classes should not surround 
themselves with the evidences of beauty and comfort 
in all their shapes, and thus do homage alike to the 
gifts of God and the labors of man. The taste for the 
beautiful is one of the best and most useful endowments. 
It is one of the handmaids of civilization. Beauty and 
elegance do not necessarily belong to the homes of the 
rich. They are, or ought to be, all-prevading. Beauty 
in all things—in nature, in art, in science, in literature, 
in social and domestic life. 

How beautiful and yet how cheap are flowers! Not 
exotics, but what are called common flowers. A rose, 
for instance, is among the most beautiful of the smiles 
N of nature. The “ laughing flowers,” exclaims the poet. 
But there is more than gayety in blooming flowers, 
though it takes a wise man to see the beauty, the love, 
and the adaptation of which they are full. 

What should we think of one who had invented flow¬ 
ers, supposing that, before him, flowers were unknown? 
would he not be regarded as the opener-up of a para¬ 
dise of new delight? Should we not hail the inventor 


32 Elegance of Flowers . 

. V 

as a genius, as a god? And yet these lovely offsprings 
of the earth have been speaking to man from the first 
dawn of his existence until now, telling him of the good¬ 
ness and wisdom of the creative power, which bid the 
earth bring forth, not only that which was useful as 
food, but also flowers, the bright consumate flowers to 
clothe it in beauty and joy! 

Bring one of the commonest field-flowers into a room, 
place it on a table or chimney-piece, and you seem to 
have brought a ray of sunshine into the place. There 
is a cheerfulness about flowers. What a delight are 
they to the drooping invalid! They are a sweet enjoy¬ 
ment, coming as messengers from the country, and 
seeming to say, “ come and see where we grow arid let 
your heart be glad in our presence.” 

Have a flower in the room, by all means! It will 
cost only a trifle if your ambition is moderate, and the 
gratification it gives will be beyond price. If you can 
have a flower for your window, so much the better. 
What can be more delicious than the sun’s light 
streaming through flowers—through the midst of crim¬ 
son fuchias or scarlet geraniums? To look out into 
the light through flowers—is not that poetry? And to 
break the force of the sunbeams by the tender resist¬ 
ance of green leaves? If you can train a nasturtium 
round the window, or some sweet pease, then you will 
have the most beautiful frame you can invent for the 
picture without, whether it be the busy crowd, or a 
distant landscape, or trees with their lights and shades, 
or the changes of the passing clouds. Any one may 
thus look through flowers for the price of an old song. 


Common Enjoyments . 


33 


And what pure taste and refinement does it not indi¬ 
cate on the part of the cultivator! 

A flower in the window sweetens the air, makes the 
room look graceful, gives the sun’s light a new charm, 
rejoices the eye, and links nature with beauty. The 
flower is a companion that will never say a cross thing 
to any one, but will always look beautiful and smiling. 
Do not despise it because it is cheap, and because every- 
body may have the luxury as well as yourself. Com¬ 
mon things are cheap, but common things are invaria¬ 
bly the most valuable. Could we only have fresh air 
or sunshine by purchase, what luxuries they would be 
considered. But they are free to all, and we think lit¬ 
tle of their blessings. 

There is indeed much in nature that we do not yet 
half enjoy, because we shut our avenues of sensation 
and feeling. We are satisfied with the matter of fact, 
and look not for the spirit of fact which is above it. If 
we opened our minds to enjoyment, we might find tran¬ 
quil pleasures spread about us on every side. We 
might live with the angels that visit us on every sun¬ 
beam, and sit with the fairies who wait on every flower. 
We want more loving knowledge to enable us to en¬ 
joy life, and we require to cultivate the art of making 
the most of the common means and appliances of enjoy¬ 
ment which lie about us on every side. 

A snug and clean home, no matter how tiny it be, 
so that it be wholesome. Windows into which the 
sun can shine cheerily, a few good books (and who need 
be without a few good books in these days of universal 
cheapness?)—no duns at the door, and the cupboard 
3 


34 


The Beauty of A rt. 

well supplied, and with flowers in your room! There 
is none so poor as not to have about him these elements 
of pleasure. 

But why not, besides the beauty of nature, have a 
taste for the beauty of art? Why not hang up a pict¬ 
ure in the room? Ingenious methods have been dis¬ 
covered—some of them quite recently—for almost in¬ 
finitely multiplying works of art, by means of wood-en¬ 
gravings, lithographs, photographs and autotypes, which 
render it possible for every person to furnish his rooms 
with beautiful pictures. Skill and science have thus 
brought art within reach of the poorest. 

Any picture, print or engraving that represents a no¬ 
ble thought, that depicts a heroic act, or that brings a 
bit of nature from the fields or the streets into our room, 
is a teacher, a means of education, and a help to self¬ 
culture. It serves to make the home more pleasant and 
attractive. It sweetens domestic life, and sheds a grace 
and beauty about it. It draws the gazer away from 
mere consideration of self, and increases his store of 
delightful association with the world without as well as 
with the world within. 

The portrait of a great man, for instance, helps us 
to read his life. It invests him with a personal interest. 
Looking at his features, we feel as if we knew him bet¬ 
ter, and were more closely related to him. Such a 
portrait, hung up before us daily, at our meals and dur¬ 
ing our leisure hours, unconsciously serves to lift us up 
and sustain us. It is a link that in some way binds us 
to a higher and nobler nature. 

It is not necessary that a picture should be high- 


Art at Home . 


35 


priced in order to be beautiful and good. We have 
seen things for which hundreds of guineas have been 
paid that have not one-hundreth part of the meaning or 
beauty that is to be found in Linton’s wood-cut of Raf- 
faelle’s “ Madonna,” which may be had for twopence. 
The head reminds one of the observation made by Haz- 
litt upon a picture, that it seems as if an unhandsome 
act would be impossible in its presence. It embodies 
the ideas of mother’s love, womanly beauty and earnest 
piety. As some one said of the picture, “ it looks as if 
a bit of heaven were in the room.” 

Picture-fanciers pay not so much for the merit as for 
the age and rarity of their works. The poorest may 
have the seeing eye for beauty, while the rich man may 
be blind to it. The cheapest engraving may communi¬ 
cate the sense of beauty to the artizan, while the thous¬ 
and guinea picture may fail to communicate to the mil¬ 
lionaire anything—excepting, perhaps, the notion that 
he has got possession of a work which the means of 
other people cannot compass. 

Does the picture give you pleasure on looking at it? 
That is one good test of its worth. You may grow 
tired of it. Your taste may outgrow it and demand 
something better, just as the reader may grow out of 
Montgomery’s poetry into Milton’s. Then you will 
take down the daub, and put up a picture with a higher 
idea in its place. There may thus be a steady progress 
of art made upon the room walls. If the pictures can 
be put in frames, so much the better, but if they can¬ 
not, no matter. Up with them! We know that Owen 
Jones says it is not good taste to hang prints upon walls; 


36 


Art of Living . 

he would merely hang room-papers there. But Owen 
Jones may not be infallible, and here we think he is wrong. 
To our eyes a room always looks unfurnished, no mat¬ 
ter how costly and numerous the tables, chairs and 
ottomans, unless there be pictures upon the walls. 

It ought to be, and no doubt it is, a great stimulus to 
artists to know that their works are now distributed in 
prints and engravings, to decorate and beautify the 
homes of the people. The wood-cutter, the lithograph¬ 
er, and the engraver are the popular interpreters of the 
great artist. Thus Turner’s pictures are not confined 
to the wealthy possessors of the original works, but may 
be diffused through all homes by the Millers, and 
Brandards, and Wilmotts, who have engraved them. 
Thus Landseer finds entrance, through wood-cuts and 
mezzotints, into every dwelling. Thus Cruikshank 
preaches temperance, and Ary Sheffer purity and piety. 
The engraver is the medium by which art in the palace 
is conveyed into the humblest homes in the kingdom. 

The art of living may be displayed in many ways. 
It may be summed up in the words, “ Make the best of 
everything.” Nothing is beneath its care, even com¬ 
mon and little things it turns to account. It gives a 
brightness and grace to the home, and invests nature 
with new charms. Through it we enjoy the rich man’s 
parks and woods, as if they were our own. We inhale 
the common air, and bask under the universal sunshine. 
We glory in the grass, the passing clouds, and the 
flowers. We love the common earth, and hear joyful 
voices through all nature. It extends to every kind of 
social intercourse. It engenders cheerful good will and 


Final Art of Living . 37 

loving sincerity. By its help we make others happy, 
and ourselves blessed. We elevate our being and en¬ 
noble our lot. We rise above the groveling creatures 
of earth, and aspire to the infinite. And thus we link 
time to eternity, where the true art of living has its final 
consummation. 



CHAPTER II. 


HEALTHY HOMES. 

“ The best security for civilization is the dwelling.”—B. DisrAELI, 
‘‘Cleanliness is the elegance of the poor .”—English Proverb. 

“ Virtue never dwelt long with filth.”— Count Rumford. 



HEALTH is said to be wealth. Indeed, all 
wealth is valueless without health. Every 
man who lives by labor, whether of mind or 
body, regards health as one of the most valu¬ 
able of possessions. Without it, life would be unenjoy- 
able. The human system has been so framed as to 
render enjoyment one of the principal ends of physical 
life. The whole arrangement, structure, and functions 
of the human system are beautifully adapted for that 
purpose. 

Happiness is the rule of healthy existence; pain and 
misery are its exceptional conditions. Nor is pain 
altogether an evil; it is rather a salutary warning. It 
tells us that we have transgressed some rule, violated 
some law, disobeyed some physical obligation. It is a 
monitor which warns us to amend our state of living. 
It virtually says, “ Return to Nature, observe her laws, 
and be restored to happiness.” . Thus, paradoxical 
though it may seem, pain is one of the conditions of 
the physical well-being of man; as death, according to 





Healthy Existence . 39 

Dr. Thomas Brown, is one of the conditions of the 
enjoyment of life. 

To enjoy physical happiness, therefore, the natural 
laws must be complied with. To discover and observe 
these laws, man has been endowed with the gift of 
reason. Does he fail to exercise this gift—does he 
neglect to comply with the law of his being—then pain 
and disease are the necessary consequence. 

Man violates the laws of nature in his own person, 
and he suffers accordingly. He is idle, and overfeeds 
himself; he is punished by gout, indigestion, or apo¬ 
plexy. He drinks too much; he becomes bloated, 
trembling, and weak; his appetite falls off, his strength 
declines, his constitution decays, and he falls a victim 
to the numerous diseases which haunt the steps of the 
drunkard. 

Society suffers in the same way. It leaves districts 
undrained and streets uncleaned. Masses of the popu¬ 
lation are allowed to live crowded together in unwhole¬ 
some dens, half poisoned by the mephitic air of the 
neighborhood. Then a fever breaks out, or a cholera, 
or a plague. Disease spreads from the miserable 
abodes of the poor into the comfortable homes of the 
rich, carrying death and devastation before it. The 
misery and suffering incurred in such cases are nothing 
less than willful, inasmuch as the knowledge necessary 
to avert them is within the reach of all. 

Wherever any number of persons live together, the 
atmosphere becomes poisoned, unless means be provided 
for its constant change and renovation. If there be 
not sufficient ventillation, the air becomes charged with 


40 Necessity for Pure A ir. 

carbonic acid, principally the product of respiration. 
Whatever the body discharges, becomes poison to the 
body if introduced again through the lungs. Hence 
the immense importance of pure air. A deficiency of 
food may be considerably less injurious than a defi¬ 
ciency of pure air. Every person above fourteen years 
of age requires about six hundred cubic feet of shut-up 
space to breathe in during the twenty-four hours. If 
he sleeps in a room of smaller dimensions, he will suffer 
more or less, and gradually approach the condition of 
being smothered. 

Shut up a mouse in a glass receiver, and it will grad¬ 
ually die by re-breathing its own breath. Shut up a 
man in a confined space, and he will die in the same 
way. The English soldiers expired in the Black Hole 
of Calcutta because they wanted pure air. Thus about 
half the children born in some manufacturing towns die 
before they are five years old, principally because they 
want pure air. Humboldt tells of a sailor who was. 
dying of fever in the close hold of a ship. His com¬ 
rades brought him out of the hold to die in the open 
air. Instead of dying, he revived, and eventually got 
well. He was cured by the pure air. 

The first method of raising a man above the life of 
an animal is to provide him with a healthy home. The 
home is, after all, the best school for the world. Chil¬ 
dren grow up into men and women there; they imbibe 
their best and their worst morality there; and their 
morals and intelligence are in a great measure well or 
ill trained there. Men can only be really and truly 
humanized and civilized through the institution of the 


Healthy Homes . 


41 


home. Domestic purity and moral life are in the 
good home, and individual defilement and moral death 
in the bad one. 

The school-master has really very little to do with 
the formation of the characters of children. These 
are formed in the home by the father and mother—by 
brothers, sisters, and companions. It does not matter 
how complete may be the education given in schools. 
It may include the whole range of knowledge; yet if 
the scholar is under the necessity of daily returning to 
a home which is indecent, vicious, and miserable, all 
this learning will prove of comparatively little value. 
Character and disposition are the result of home train¬ 
ing; and if these are, through bad physical and moral 
conditions, deteriorated and destroyed, the intellectual 
culture acquired in the school may prove an instrumen¬ 
tality for evil rather than for good. 

The home should not be considered merely as an 
eating and sleeping place; but as a place where self- 
respect may be preserved, and comforts secured, and 
domestic pleasures enjoyed. Three-fourths of the petty 
vices which degrade society, and swell into crimes 
which disgrace it, would shrink before the influence of 
self-respect. To be a place of happiness, exercising 
beneficial influences upon its members, and especially 
upon the children growing up within it, the home must 
be pervaded by the spirit of comfort, cleanliness, affec¬ 
tion, and intelligence. And in order to secure this, the 
presence of a well-ordered, industrious and educated 
woman is indispensable. So much depends upon the 
woman, that we might almost pronounce the happiness 


42 Influence of the Home . 

or unhappiness of the home to be woman’s work. No 
nation can advance except through the improvement 
of the nation’s homes; and they can only be improved 
through the instrumentality of women. They must 
know how to make homes comfortable; and before 
they can know, they must have been taught. 

Women, must, therefore, have sufficient training to 
fit them for their duties in real life. Their education 
should be conducted throughout with a view to their 
future position as wives, mothers, and housewives. 
But among all classes, even the highest, the education 
of girls is rarely conducted with this object. Among 
the working-people, the girls are sent out to work; 
among the higher classes, they are sent out to learn a 
few flashy accomplishments; and men are left to pick 
from them, very often with little judgment, the future 
wives and mothers. 

Men themselves attach little or no importance to the 
intelligence or industrial skill of women; and they only 
discover their value when they find their homes stupid 
and cheerless. Men are caught by the glance of a 
bright eye, by a pair of cherry cheeks, by a handsome 
figure; and when they “fall in love,” as the phrase 
goes, they never bethink them of whether the “ loved 
one ” can mend a shirt or cook a pudding. And yet 
the most sentimental of husbands must come down 
from his u ecstatics ” so soon as the knot is tied, and 
then he soon enough finds out that the clever hands of 
a woman are worth far more than her bright glances; 
and if the shirt and pudding qualifications be absent, 
then woe to the unhappy man, and woe also to the 


Unhealthy Homes . 


43 


unhappy woman! If the substantial element of physi¬ 
cal comfort be absent from the home, it soon becomes 
hateful; the wife, notwithstanding all her good looks, 
is neglected; and the public-house separates those whom 
the law and the church have joined together. 

Men are really desperately ignorant respecting the 
home department. If they thought for a moment of 
its importance, they would not be so ready to rush into 
premature housekeeping. Ignorant men select equally 
ignorant women for their wives; and these introduce 
into the world families of children whom they are 
utterly incompetent to train as rational or domestic 
beings. The home is no home, but a mere lodging, 
and often a very comfortless one. 

We speak not merely of the poorest laborers, but 
of the best-paid workmen in the large manufacturing 
towns. Men earning from ten to fifteen dollars a week 
—or more than the average pay of dry goods and gro¬ 
cers’ clerks—though spending considerable amounts on 
beer, will often grudge so small a part of their income 
as two dollars per week to provide decent homes for 
themselves and their children. What is the conse¬ 
quence? They degrade themselves and their families. 
They crowd together, in foul neighborhoods, into dwell¬ 
ings possessing no element of health and decency; 
where even the small rental which they pay is in excess 
of the accommodation they receive. The results are 
inevitable—loss of self-respect, degradation of intelli¬ 
gence, failure of physical health, and premature death. 
Even the highest-minded philosopher, placed in such a 
situation, would gradually gravitate toward brutality. 


44 


Wholesome Dwellings . 


A healthy home presided over by a thrifty, cleanly 
woman, may be the abode of comfort, of virtue and of 
happiness. It may be the scene of every ennobling re¬ 
lation in family life. It may be endeared to a man by 
many delightful memories—by the affectionate voices 
of his wife, his children and his neighbors. Such a 
home will be regarded, not as a mere nest of common 
instinct, but as a training ground for young immortals, 
a sanctuary for the heart, a refuge from storms, a 
sweet resting-place after labor, a consolation in sorrow, 
a pride in success, and a joy at all times. 

Sanitary science may be summed up in the one word 
—cleanliness. Pure water and pure air are its essen¬ 
tials. Wherever there is impurity, it must be washed 
away and got rid of. Thus sanitary science is one of 
the simplest and most intelligible of all the branches of 
human knowledge. Perhaps it is because of this that, 
like most common things, it has continued to receive so 
little attention. Many still think that it requires no 
science at all to ventilate a chamber, to clean out a 
drain, and to keep house and person free from unclean¬ 
liness. 

Sanitary science may be regarded as an unsavory 
subject. It deals with dirt and its expulsion—from the 
skin, from the house, from the street, from the city. It 
is comprised in the words, u wherever there is dirt, get 
rid of it instantly, and with cleanliness let there be a 
copious supply of pure water and of pure air for the pur¬ 
pose of human health.” 

Take, for instance, an unhealthy street, or block of 
streets in a large town. There you find typhoid fever 


Results of Uncleanness . 


45 


constantly present. Cleanse and sewer the streets, sup¬ 
ply it with pure air and pure water, and fever is forth¬ 
with banished. Is not this a much more satisfactory 
result than the application of drugs? Fifty thousand 
persons, says Mr. Lee, annually fall victims to typhoid 
fever in New England, originated by causes which are 
preventable. The result is the same as if these fifty 
thousand persons were annually taken out of their 
wretched dwellings and put to death! We are shocked 
by the news of murder—by the loss of a single life by 
physical causes! And yet we hear, almost without a 
shudder, of the reiterated statement of the loss of tens of 
thousands of lives yearly from physical causes in daily 
operation. The annual slaughter from preventable 
causes of typhoid fever is double the amount of what 
was suffered by the allied armies at the battle of Wat¬ 
erloo! By neglect of the ascertained conditions of 
healthful living, the great mass of the people lose nearly 
half the natural period of their lives. “ Typhoid,” says 
a physician, “ is a curse which man inflicts upon 
himself by the neglect of sanitary arrangements.” 

The connection is close and intimate between physi¬ 
cal and moral health, between domestic well-being and 
public happiness. The destructive influence of an un¬ 
wholesome dwelling propagates a moral typhoid worse 
than a plague itself. Where the body is enfeebled by 
the depressing influence of vitiated air and bodily de¬ 
filement, the mind, almost of necessity, takes the same 
low, unhealthy tone. Self-respect is lost; a stupid, inert, 
languid feeling overpowers the system, the character 
becomes depraved, and too often—eager to snatch even 


46 


Wholesome Homes Necessary . 


a momentary enjoyment, to feel the blood bounding in 
the veins—the miserable victim flies to the demon of 
strong drink for relief, hence, misery, infamy, shame, 
crime and wretchedness. 

Mere improvement of towns, as respects drainage, 
sewerage, paving, water-supply, and abolition of cellar 
dwellings, will effect comparatively little, unless we can 
succeed in carrying the improvement further—namely, 
into the houses of the people themselves. A well-de¬ 
vised system of sanitary measures may insure external 
cleanliness; may provide that the soil on which the 
streets of houses are built shall be relieved of all super¬ 
fluous moisture, and that all animal and vegetable re¬ 
fuse shall be promptly removed—so that the air circu¬ 
lating through the streets and floating from them into 
the houses of the inhabitants, shall not be laden with 
poisonous miasmata, the source of disease, suffering and 
untimely death. Cellar dwellings may be prohibited, 
and certain regulations as to the buildings hereafter to 
be erected may also be enforced. But here municipal 
authority stops; it can go no further; it cannot 
penetrate into the home, and it is not necessary 
that it should do so. 

The individual efforts of the community themselves 
are therefore needed, and any legislative enactments 
which dispensed with these would probably be an evil. 
The Government does not build the houses in which 
the people dwell. These are provided by employers 
and by capitalists, small and large. It is necessary, 
therefore, to enlist these interests in the cause of sani¬ 
tary improvement, in order to insure success. 


Home Reform. 


47 


Individual capitalists have already done much to 
provide wholesome houses for their working-people, 
and have found their account in so doing by their in- 
creased health, as well as in their moral improvement 
in all ways. Capitalists imbued with a benevolent and 
philanthropic spirit can thus spread blessings far and 
wide. And were a few enterprising builders in every' 
town to take up this question practically, and provide 
a class of houses for laborers, with suitable accommo¬ 
dation—provided with arrangements for ventilation, 
cleanliness, and separation of the sexes, such as health 
and comfort require—they would really be conferring 
an amount of benefit on the community at large, and 
at the same time, we believe, upon themselves, which 
it would not be easy to overestimate. 

But there also needs the active co-operation of the 
dwellers in poor men’s homes themselves. They, too, 
must join cordially in the sanitary movement; other¬ 
wise comparatively little good can be effected. You 
may provide an efficient water-supply, yet if the house¬ 
wife will not use the water as it ought to be used, if 
she be lazy and dirty, the house will be foul and com¬ 
fortless still. You may provide for ventilation, yet if 
offensive matters be not removed, and doors and win¬ 
dows are kept closed, the pure outer air will be ex¬ 
cluded, and the house will still smell fusty and unwhole¬ 
some. In any case, there must be a cleanly woman to 
superintend the affairs of the house; and she cannot be 
made so by act of congress. The sanitary commission¬ 
ers cannot, by any “ notification,” convert the slatternly 
shrew into a tidy housewife, nor the disorderly drunkard 


48 


Do?nestic Improvement. 


into an industrious, home-loving husband. There must, 
therefore, be individual effort on the part of the house¬ 
wife in every working-man’s home. As a recent writer 
on home reform observes: “We must begin by insisting 
that, however much of the physical and moral evils of 
the working-classes may be justly attributable to their 
dwellings, it is too often the case that more ought, in 
truth, to be attributed to themselves; for, surely, the 
inmate depends less on the house than the house on the 
inmate, as mind has more power over matter than mat¬ 
ter over mind. Let the dwelling be ever so poor and 
incommodious, yet a family with decent and cleanly 
habits will contrive to make the best of it, and will 
take care that there shall be nothing offensive in it 
which they have power to remove. Whereas a model 
house, fitted up with every convenience and comfort 
which modern science can supply, will, if occupied by 
persons of intemperate and uncleanly habits, speedily 
become a disgrace and a nuisance. A sober, industri¬ 
ous, and cleanly couple will impart an air of decency 
and respectability to the poorest dwelling; while the 
spendthrift, the drunkard, or the gambler will convert 
a palace into a scene of discomfort and disgust. Since, 
therefore, so much depends on the character and con¬ 
duct of the parties themselves, it is right that they 
should feel their responsibility in this matter, and that 
they should know and attend to the various points con¬ 
nected with the improvement of their own homes.” 

Homes are the manufactories of men; and as the 
homes are, so will the men be. Mind will be degraded 
by the physical influences around it, decency will be 


Dirt and Immorality . 


49 


destroyed by constant contact with impurity and defile¬ 
ment, and coarseness of manners, habits, and tastes will 
become inevitable. You cannot rear a kindly nature, 
sensitive against evil, careful of properties, and desirous 
of moral and intellectual improvement, amidst the 
darkness, dampness, disorder, and discomfort which 
unhappily characterize so large a portion of the dwell¬ 
ings of the poor in our large towns; and until we can, 
by some means or other, improve their domestic ac¬ 
commodation, their low moral and social condition 
must be regarded as inevitable. 

We want not only a better class of dwellings, but 
we require the people to be so educated as to appreci¬ 
ate them. A certain landlord took his tenantry out of 
their mud-huts, and removed them into comfortable 
dwellings which he had built for their accommodation. 
When he returned to his estate, he was greatly disap¬ 
pointed. The houses were as untidy and uncomfortable 
as before. The pig was still under the bed, and the 
hens over it. The concrete floor was as dirty as the 
mud one had been. The panes of the windows were 
broken, and the garden was full of weeds. The land¬ 
lord wrote to a friend in despair. The friend replied, 
“ You have begun at the wrong end. You ought to 
have taught them the value of cleanliness, thriftiness, 
and comfort.” To begin at the beginning, therefore, 
we must teach the people the necessity of cleanliness, 
its virtues, and its wholesomeness; for which purpose it 
is requisite that they should be intelligent, capable of 
understanding ideas conveyed in words, able to discern, 
able to read, able to think. In short, the people, as 
4 


50 Worship in Washing. 

children, must first have been to school, and properly 
taught there; whereas we have allowed the majority 
of the working people to grow up untaught, nearly 
half of them unable to read and write; and then we 
expect them to display the virtues, prudence, judgment, 
and forethought of well-educated beings. 

It is of the first importance to teach people cleanly 
habits. This can be done without teaching them either 
reading or writing. Cleanliness is more than whole¬ 
someness. It furnishes an atmosphere of self-respect, 
and influences the moral condition of the entire house¬ 
hold. It is the best exponent of the spirit of Thrift. 
It is to the economy of the household what hygiene is 
to the human body. It should preside at every detail 
of domestic service. It indicates comfort and well¬ 
being. It is among the distinctive attributes of civili¬ 
zation, and marks the progress of nations. 

We need scarcely refer to the moral as well as the 
physical beauty of cleanliness—cleanliness which indi¬ 
cates self-respect, and is the root of many fine virtues, 
and especially of purity, delicacy, and decency. We 
might even go further, and say that purity of thought 
and feeling results from habitual purity of body; for 
the mind and heart of man are, to a very great extent, 
influenced by external conditions and circumstances; 
and habit and custom, as regards outward things, 
stamp themselves deeply on the whole character, alike 
upon the moral feelings and the intellectual powers. 

Moses was the most practical of sanitary reformers. 
Among the Eastern nations generally, cleanliness is a 
part of religion. They esteem it not only as next to 


51 


Common Things at Home . 

godliness, but as a part of godliness itself. They con¬ 
nect the idea of internal sanctity with that of external 
purification. They feel that it would be an insult to 
the Maker they worship to come into his presence 
covered with impurity. Hence the Mohammedans 
devote almost as much care to the erection of baths as 
to that of mosques; and along-side the place of worship 
is usually found the place of cleansing, so that the faith¬ 
ful may have the ready means of purification previous 
to their act of worship. 

The common well-being of men, women and children 
depends upon attention to what at first may appear com¬ 
paratively trivial matters. And unless these small 
matters be attended to, comfort in person, mind and 
feeling is absolutely impossible. The physical satisfac¬ 
tion of a child, for example, depends upon attention to 
its feeding, clothing and washing. These are the com¬ 
monest of common things, and yet they are of the most 
essential importance. If the child is not properly fed 
and clothed, it will grow up feeble and ill-conditioned. 
And as the child is, so will the man be. 

Grown people cannot be comfortable without regu¬ 
lar attention to these matters. Every one needs, and 
ought to have, comfort at home; and comfort is the 
united product of cleanliness, thrift, regularity, industry 
—in short, a continuous performance of duties, each in 
itself apparently trivial. The cooking of a potato, the 
baking of a loaf, the mending of a shirt, the darning of 
a pair of stockings, the making of a bed, the scrubbing 
of a floor, the washing and dressing of a baby, are all 
matters of no great moment, but a woman ought to 


52 


Knowledge of Physiology . 

know how to do all these before the management of a 
household, however poor, is entrusted to her. 

“ Why,” asked Lord Ashburton in a lecture to the 
students of the Wolvesey training-schools, “ was one 
mother of a family a better economist than another? 
Why could one live in abundance where another 
starved? Why, in similar dwellings, were the children 
of one parent healthy, of another puny and ailing? Why 
could this laborer do with ease a task that would kill 
his fellow? It was not luck or chance that decided 
those differences; it was the patient observation of na¬ 
ture that suggested to some gifted minds rules for their 
guidance which had escaped the heedlessness of others.” 

It is not so much, however, the patient observation 
of nature, as good training in the home and in the 
school, that enables some women to accomplish so 
much more than others in the development of human be¬ 
ings and the promotion of human comfort. And to do this 
efficiently, women as well as men require to be in¬ 
structed as to the nature of the objects upon which they 
work. 

Take one branch of science as an illustration—the 
physiological. In this science we hold that every wom¬ 
an should receive some instruction. And why? Be¬ 
cause, if the laws of physiology were understood by 
women, children would grow up into better, healthier, 
happier and probably wiser men and women. Children 
are subject to certain physiological laws, the observance 
of which is necessary for their health and comfort. Is it 
not reasonable, therefore, to expect that women should 
know something of the laws, and of their operation? 


Household Management, 53 

If they are ignorant of them, they will be liable to com¬ 
mit all sorts of blunders, productive of suffering, dis¬ 
ease and death. To what are we to attribute the 
frightful mortality of children in most of our large 
towns, where one-half of all that are born perish before 
they reach their fifth year? If women, as well as men, 
knew something of the laws of healthy living, about the 
nature of the atmosphere, how its free action upon the 
blood is necessary to health, of the laws of ventilation, 
cleanliness, and nutrition—we cannot but think that the 
moral, not less than the physical, condition of the hu¬ 
man beings committed to their charge would be greatly 
improved and promoted. 

Were anything like a proper attention given to com¬ 
mon things, there would not be such an amount of dis¬ 
comfort, disease and mortality among the young. But 
we accustom people to act as if there were no such 
provisions as natural laws. If we violate them, we do 
not escape the consequences because we have been ig¬ 
norant of their mode of operation. We have been pro¬ 
vided with intelligence that we might know them, and 
if society keep its members blind and ignorant, the evil 
consequences will be inevitably reaped. Thus tens of 
thousands perish for lack of knowledge of even the 
smallest and yet most necessary conditions of right' 
living. 

Much might be said in favor of household manage¬ 
ment, and especially in favor of improved cookery. Ill- 
cooked meals are a source of discomfort in many fami¬ 
lies. Bad cooking is waste—waste of money and loss 
of comfort. Whom God has joined in matrimony, ill- 


54 Ill-managing Wives. 

cooked joints and ill-boiled potatoes have very often put 
asunder. Among the “ common things” which educat¬ 
ors should teach the rising generation, this ought cer¬ 
tainty not to be overlooked. It is the most common 
and yet most neglected of the branches of female edu¬ 
cation. 

The greater part of human labor is occupied in the 
direct production of the materials for human food. The 
farming classes and their laborers devote themselves to 
the planting, rearing and reaping of oats and other 
cereals, and the grazing farmer to the production of 
cattle and sheep, for the maintenance of the population 
at large. All these articles—corn, beef, mutton and 
such-like—are handed over to the female half of the 
human species to be converted into food, for the susten¬ 
ance of themselves, their husbands, and their families. 
How do they use their power? Can they cook? Have 
they been taught to cook? Is it not a fact that, in this 
country, cooking is one of the lost or undiscovered 
arts ? 

Thousands of artisans and laborers are deprived of 
half the actual nutriment of their food, and continue 
half starved, because their wives are utterly ignorant 
of the art of cooking. They are yet in entire darkness 
as to the economizing of food, and the means of ren¬ 
dering it palatable and digestible. 

Great would be the gain to the community if cookery 
were made an ordinary branch of female education. To 
the poor the gain would be incalculable. “ Among the 
prizes which the Bountifuls of both sexes are fond of 
bestowing in the country, we should like to see some 


Morals and Cookery . 55 

offered for the best boiled potato, the best grilled mut¬ 
ton-chop, and the best seasoned soup, or broth. In writ¬ 
ing of a well boiled potato, we are aware that we shall 
incur the contempt of many for attaching importance to 
a thing they suppose to be so common. But the fact 
is that their contempt arises, as is often the origin of 
contempt, from their ignorance, there being not one 
person in a hundred who has ever seen and tasted that 
great rarity, a well boiled potato.” 

In short, we want common sense in cookery, as in 
most other things. Food should be used, and not 
abused. Much of it is now absolutely wasted—wasted 
for want of a little art in cooking it. Food is nor only 
wasted by bad cooking, but much of it is thrown away 
which Frenchwomen would convert into something savo¬ 
ry and digestible. Health, morals and family enjoy¬ 
ments are all connected with the question of cookery. 
Above all, it is the handmaid of thrift. It makes the 
most and the best of the bounties of God. It wastes 
nothing, but turns everything to account. Every woman 
ought to be accomplished in an art which confers so 
much comfort, health and wealth upon the members of 
her household. 

Many intelligent, high-minded ladies, who have felt 
disgusted at the idleness to which “ society” condemns 
them, have of late years undertaken the work of visit¬ 
ing the poor and of nursing—a noble work. But there 
is another school of usefulness which stands open to 
them. Let them study the art of common cookery, and 
diffuse the knowledge of it among the people. They 
will thus do an immense amount of good, and bring 


56 


Joseph Corbetfs Story . 

down the blessings of many a half-hungered husband 
upon their benevolent heads. Women of the poorer 
classes require much help from those who are better 
educated, or who have been placed in better circum¬ 
stances than themselves. The greater number of them 
marry young, and suddenly enter upon a life for which 
they have not received the slightest preparation. They 
know nothing of cookery, of sewing, of clothes-mend- 
ing, or of economical ways of spending their husbands’ 
money. Hence, slatternly and untidy habits, and un¬ 
comfortable homes, from which the hurband is often 
glad to seek refuge in the nearest public house. The 
following story, told by Joseph Corbett, a Birmingham 
operative, before a Parliamentary committee, holds 
true of many working-people in the manufacturing dis¬ 
tricts: 

“ My mother,” he said, “ worked in a manufactory 
from a very early age. She was clever and industrious, 
and, moreover, %he had the reputation of being virtu¬ 
ous. She was regarded as an excellent match for the 
working-man. She was married early. She became 
the mother of eleven children; I am the eldest. To the 
best of her ability she performed the important duties 
of a wife and mother. But she was lamentably defi¬ 
cient in domestic knowledge. In that most important 
of all human instructions—how to make the home and 
the fireside to possess a charm for her husband and chil¬ 
dren—she had never received one single lesson. As 
the family increased, so everything like comfort disap¬ 
peared altogether. The power to make home cheerful 
and comfortable was never given to her. She knew 


Instruction of Women . 57 

not the value of cherishing in my father’s mind a love 
of domestic objects. Not one moment’s happiness did 
I ever see under my father’s roof. All this dismal state 
of things I can distinctly trace to the entire and perfect 
absence of all training and instruction to my mother. 
He became intemperate, and his intemperance made 
her destitute. She made many efforts to abstain from 
shop work, but her pecuniary necessities forced her 
back into the shop. The family was large, and every 
moment was required at home. I have known her, af¬ 
ter the close of a hard day’s work, sit up nearly all 
night for several nights together, washing and mending 
clothes. My father could have no comfort there. 
These domestic obligations, which in a well-regulated 
house would be done so as not to provoke the husband, 
were to my father a sort of annoyance; and he, from 
an ignorant and mistaken notion, sought comfort in an 
ale-house. My mother’s ignorance of household duties, 
my father’s consequent irritability and intemperance, 
the frightful poverty, the constant quarrelling, the per¬ 
nicious example to my brothers and sisters, the bad ef¬ 
fect upon the future conduct of my brothers—one and 
all of us being forced out to work so young that our 
feeble earnings would produce only one shilling a week 
—cold and hunger, and the innumerable sufferings of 
my childhood crowd upon my mind and overpower me. 
They keep alive a deep anxiety for the emancipation of 
thousands of families who are in a similar state of hor¬ 
rible misery. My own experience tells me that the in¬ 
struction of the females in the work of a house, in 
teaching them to produce cheerfulness and comfort at 


58 


Female Education . 


the fireside, would prevent a great amount of misery 
and crime. There would be fewer drunken husbands 
and disobedient children. Female education is dis¬ 
gracefully neglected. I attach more importance to it 
than to anything else; for woman imparts the first im¬ 
pression to the young susceptible mind; she moulds the 
child from which is formed the future man.” 






CHAPTER III. 


INFLUENCE OF CHARACTER. 

“ The prosperity of a country depends, not on the abundance of its revenues, 
nor on the strength of its fortifications, nor on the beauty of its public build¬ 
ings ; but it consists in the number of its cultivated citizens, in its men of edu¬ 
cation, enlightenment, and character; here are to be found its true interest, its 
chief strength, its real power.”— Martin Luther. 

HARACTER is one of the greatest motive 
powers in the world. In its noblest embodi¬ 
ments, it exemplifies human nature in its high¬ 
est forms, for it exhibits man at his best. 

Men of genuine excellence, in ev£ry station of life 
—men of industry, of integrity, of high principle, of 
sterling honesty of purpose—command the spontaneous 
homage of mankind. It is natural to believe in such 
men, to have confidence in them, and to imitate them. 
All that is good in the world is upheld by them, and 
without their presence in it the world would not be 
worth living in. 

Although genius always commands admiration, char¬ 
acter most secures respect. The former is more the 
product of brain-power, the latter of heart-power; and 
in the long run it is the heart that rules in life. Men 
of genius stand to society in the relation of its intellect, 
as men of character of its conscience; and while the 
former are admired, the latter are followed. 






60 


Sphere of Comiyion Duty . 

Great men are always exceptional men; and great¬ 
ness itself is but comparative. Indeed, the range of 
most men in life is so limited, that very few have the 
opportunity of being great. But each man can act his 
part honestly and honorably, and to the best of his 
ability. He can use his gifts and not abuse them. He 
can strive to make the best of life. He can be true, 
just, honest, and faithful, even in small things. In a 
word, he can do his duty in that sphere in which Provi¬ 
dence has placed him. 

Commonplace though it may appear, this doing of 
one’s duty embodies the highest ideal of life and char¬ 
acter. There may be nothing heroic about it; but the 
common lot of men is not heroic. And though the 
abiding sense of duty upholds man in his highest atti¬ 
tudes, it also equally sustains him in the transaction of 
the ordinary affairs of every-day existence. Man’s life 
is “centred in the sphere of common duties.” The 
most influential of all the virtues are those which are 
the most in request for daily use. They wear the best, 
and last the longest. Superfine virtues, which are 
above the standard of common men, may only be 
sources of temptation and danger. Burke has truly 
said that “ the human system which rests for its basis 
on the heroic virtues is sure to have a superstructure 
of weakness or of profligacy.” 

When Dr. Abbot, drew the character of his deceased 
friend Thomas Sackville, he did not dwell upon his 
merits as a statesman, or his genius as a poet, but upon 
his virtues as a man in relation to the prdinary duties 
of life. “ How many rare things were in him!” said 


Sustaining Power of Duty . 61 

he. “Who more loving unto his wife?—Who more 
kind unto his children?—Who more fast unto his 
friend?—Who more moderate unto his enemy?—Who 
more true to his word? ” Indeed, we can always bet¬ 
ter understand and appreciate a man’s real character 
by the manner in which he conducts himself towards 
those who are the most nearly related to him, and by 1 
his transaction of the seemingly commonplace details 
of daily duty, than by his public exhibition of himself 
as an author, an orator, or a statesman. 

At the same time, while duty, for the most part, 
applies to the conduct of affairs in common life by the 
average of common men, it is also a sustaining power 
to men of the very highest standard of character. 
They may not have either money, or property, or 
learning, or power; and yet they may be strong in 
heart and rich in spirit—honest, truthful, dutiful. And 
whoever strives to do his duty faithfully is fulfilling the 
purpose for which he was created, and building up in 
himself the principles of a manly character. There 
are many persons of whom it may be said that they 
have no other possession in the world but their charac¬ 
ter, and yet they s.tand as firmly upon it as any crowned 
king. 

Intellectual culture has no necessary relation to purity 
or excellence of character. In the New Testament, 
appeals are constantly made to the heart of man and to 
“ the spirit we are of,” while allusions to the intellect 
are of very rare occurrence. “ A handful of good life,” 
says George Herbert, “is worth a bushel of learning.” 


62 Character Above Learning . 

Not that learning is to be despised, but that it must be 
allied to goodness. Intellectual capacity is sometimes 
found associated with the meanest moral character 
with abject servility to those in high places, and arro¬ 
gance to those of low estate. A man may be ac¬ 
complished in art, literature, and science, and yet, in 
honesty, virtue, truthfulness, and the spirit of duty, be 
entitled to take rank after many a poor and illiterate 
peasant. 

“ You insist,” wrote Perthes to a friend, “ on respect 
for learned men. I say, Amen! But at the same time,, 
don’t forget that largeness of mind, depth of thought,, 
appreciation of the lofty, experience of the world, deli¬ 
cacy of manner, tact and energy in action, love of 
truth, honesty, and amiability—that all these may be 
wanting in a man who may yet be very learned.” 

When some one, in Sir Walter Scott’s hearing, made 
a remark as to the value of literary talents and accom¬ 
plishments, as if they were above all things to be 
esteemed and honored, he observed, “ God help us! 
what a poor world this would be if that were the true 
doctrine! I have read books enough, and observed 
and conversed with enough of eminent and splendidly- 
cultured minds, too, in my time; but I assure you, I 
have heard higher sentiments from the lips of poor un¬ 
educated men and women, when exerting the spirit of 
severe yet gentle heroism under difficulties and afflic¬ 
tions, or speaking their simple thoughts as to circum¬ 
stances in the lot of friends and neighbors, than I ever 
yet met with out of the Bible. We shall never learn 


Character Above Wealth . 


68 


to feel and respect our real calling and destiny, unless 
we have taught ourselves to consider every thing as 
moonshine, compared with the education of the heart.” 

Still less has wealth any necessary connection with 
elevation of character. On the contrary, it is much 
more frequently the cause of its corruption and degra¬ 
dation. Wealth and corruption, luxury and vice, have 
very close affinities to each other. Wealth in the 
hands of men of weak purpose, of deficient self-control, 
or of ill-regulated passions, is only a temptation and a 
snare—the source, it may be, of infinite mfschief to 
themselves, and often to others. 

On the contrary, a condition of comparative poverty 
is compatible with character in its highest form. A 
man may possess only his industry, his frugality, his 
integrity, and yet stand high in the rank of true man¬ 
hood. The advice which Burns’s father gave him was 
the best: 

*• He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne’er a farthing, 

For without an honest manly heart no man was worth regarding.” 

One of the purest and noblest characters the writer 
ever knew was a laboring-man in a northern county, 
who brought up his family respectably on an income 
never amounting to more than ten shillings a week. 
Though possessed of only the rudiments of common 
education, obtained at an ordinary parish school, he 
was a man full of wisdom and thoughtfulness. His 
library consisted of the Bible, “ Flavel,” and “ Boston” 
—books which, excepting the first, probably few read¬ 
ers have ever heard of. This good man might have 
sat for the portrait of Wordsworth’s well-known 


64 


Honesty of Character . 


“Wanderer.” When he had lived his modest life of 
work and worship, and finally went to his rest, he left 
behind him a reputation for practical wisdom, for genu¬ 
ine goodness, and for helpfulness in every good work, 
which greater and richer men might have envied. 

When Luther died, he left behind him, as set forth 
in his will, “ no ready money, no treasure of coin of any 
description.” He was so poor at one part of his life, 
that he was under the necessity of earning his bread by 
turning, gardening, and clock-making. Yet, at the 
very time when he was thus working with his hands, 
he was moulding the character of his country; and he 
was morally stronger, and vastly more honored and 
followed, than all the princes of Germany. 

Character is property. It is the noblest of posses¬ 
sions. It is an estate in the general good-will and re¬ 
spect of men; and they who invest in it—though they 
may not become rich in this world’s goods—will find 
their reward in esteem and reputation fairly and honor¬ 
ably won. And it is right that in life good qualities 
should tell—that industry, virtue, and goodness should 
rank the highest—and that the really best men should 
be foremost. 

Simple honesty of purpose in a man goes a long way 
in life, if founded on a just estimate of himself and a 
steady obedience to the rule he knows and feels to be 
right. It holds a man straight, gives him strength and 
sustenance, and forms a mainspring of vigorous action. 
“Noman,”once said Sir Benjamin Rudyard, “ is bound 
to be rich or great—no, nor to be wise; but every man 
is bound to be honest.” 


Moral Principles . 


65 


But the purpose, besides being honest, must be in¬ 
spired by sound principles, and pursued with undeviat¬ 
ing adherence to truth, integrity, and uprightness. 
Without principles, a man is like a ship without rudder 
or compas^, left to drift hither and thither with every 
wind that blows. He is as one without law, or rule, or 
order, or government. “ Moral principles,” says Hume, 
“ are social and universal. They form, in a manner, 
the party of humankind against vice and disorder, its 
common enemy.” 

Epictetus once received a visit from a certain mag¬ 
nificent orator going to Rome on a lawsuit, who wished 
to learn from the Stoic something of his philosophy. 
Epictetus received his visitor coolly, not believing in 
his sincerity. “ You will only criticise my style,” said 
he; “ not really wishing to learn principles.”—‘‘Well, 
but,” said the orator, “ if I attend to that sort of thing, 
I shall be a mere pauper, like you, with no plate, nor 
equipage, nor land.”—“ I don’t 'want such things,” re¬ 
plied Epictetus; “and besides, you are poorer than I 
am, after all. Patron or no patron, what care I? You 
do care. I am richer than you. / don’t care what 
Caesar thinks of me. I flatter no one. This is what I 
have, instead of your gold and silver plate. You have 
silver vessels, but earthenware reasons, principles, appe¬ 
tites. My mind to me a kingdom is, and it furnishes 
me with abundant and happy occupation in lieu of your 
restless idleness. All your possessions seem small to 
you; mine seem great to me. Your desire is insatiate 
—mine is satisfied.” 

Talent is by no means rare in the world; nor is even 

5 


66 


Reliableness . 


genius. But can the talent be trusted? Can the 
genius ? Not unless based on truthfulness—on veracity. 
It is this quality more than any other that commands 
the esteem and respect, and secures the confidence of 
others. Truthfulness is at the foundation of all per¬ 
sonal excellence. It exhibits itself in conduct. It is 
rectitude—truth in action, and shines through every 
word and deed. It means reliableness, and convinces 
other men that it can be trusted. And a man is ah 
ready of consequence in the world when it is known 
that he can be relied on—that when he says he knows 
a thing, he does know it; that when he says he will do 
a thing, he can do, and does do it. Thus reliableness 
becomes a passport to the general esteem and confi¬ 
dence of mankind. 

In the affairs of life or of business, it is not intellect 
that tells so much as character—not brain so much as 
heart—not genius so much as self-control, patience, and 
discipline regulated by judgment. Hence there is no 
better provision for the uses of either private or public 
life, than a fair share of ordinary good sense guided by 
rectitude. Good sense, disciplined by experience and 
inspired by goodness, issues in practical wisdom. In¬ 
deed, goodness in a measure implies wisdom—the high¬ 
est wisdom—the union of the worldly with the spirit¬ 
ual. “ The correspondences of wisdom and goodness,” 
says Sir Henry Taylor, “are manifold; and that they 
will accompany each other is to be inferred, not only 
because men’s wisdom makes them good, but because 
their goodness makes them wise.” 

It is because of this controlling power of character in 


Influence of Character . 


67 


life that we often see men exercise an amount of influ¬ 
ence apparently out of all proportion to their intellect¬ 
ual endowments. They appear to act by means of 
some latent power, some reserved force, which acts se¬ 
cretly, by mere presence. As Burke said of a powerful 
nobleman of the last century, “ his virtues were his 
means.” The secret is, that the aims of such men are 
felt to be pure and noble, and they act upon others with 
a constraining power. 

Though the reputation of men of genuine character 
may be of slow growth, their true qualities can not be 
wholly concealed. They may be misrepresented by 
some and misunderstood by others; misfortune and 
adversity may, for a time, overtake them, but with pa¬ 
tience and endurance, they will eventually inspire the 
respect and command the confidence which they really 
deserve. 

It has been said of Sheridan that, had he possessed 
reliableness of character, he might have ruled the world;; 
whereas, for want of it, his splendid gifts were compar¬ 
atively useless. He dazzled and amused, but was with¬ 
out weight or influence in life or politics. Even the 
poor pantomimist of Drury Lane felt himself his supe¬ 
rior. Thus, when Delpini one day pressed the manager 
for arrears of salary, Sheridan sharply reproved him, 
telling him he had forgotten his station. “ No, indeed. 
Monsieur Sheridan, I have not,” retorted Delpini; u I 
know the difference between us perfectly well. In birth, 
parentage and education you'are superior to me, but in 
life, character and behavior I am superior to you.” 

Unlike Sheridan, Burke, his countryman, was a great 


68 


Sheridan and Burke . 


man of character. He was thirty-five before he gained 
a seat in Parliament, yet he found time to carve his 
name deep in the political history of England. He was 
a man of great gifts, and of transcendent force of char¬ 
acter. Yet he had a weakness, which proved a serious 
defect—it was his want of temper; his genius was sac¬ 
rificed to his irritability. And without this apparently 
minor gift of temper, the most splendid endowments 
may be comparatively valueless to their possessor. 

Character is formed by a variety of minute circum¬ 
stances, more or less under the regulation and control 
of the individual. Not a day passes without its disci¬ 
pline, whether for good or for evil. There is no act, 
however trivial, but has its train of consequences, as 
there is no hair so small but casts its shadow. It was 
a wise saying of Mrs. Schimmelpenninck’s mother, 
never to give way to what is little; or by that little, 
however you may despise it, you will be practically 
governed. 

Every action, every thought, every feeling, contrib 
utes to the education of the temper, the habits, and 
understanding, and exercises an inevitable influence 
upon all the acts of our future life. Thus character is 
undergoing constant change, for better or for worse— 
either being elevated on the one hand, or degraded on 
the other. “ There is no fault nor folly of my life,” 
says Mr. Ruskin, “ that does not rise up against me, 
and take away my joy, and shorten my power of pos¬ 
session, of sight, of understanding. And every past 
effort of my life, every gleam of rightness or good in 
it, is with me now, to help me in my grasp of this art 


Character and Circumstances. 


69 


and its vision.” Says Lewes in his life of Goethe: “In¬ 
stead of saying that man is the creature of circum¬ 
stance, it would be nearer the mark to say that man is 
the architect of circumstance. It is character which 
builds an existence out of circumstance. Our strength 
is measured by our plastic power. From the same 
materials one man builds palaces, another hovels: one 
warehouses, another villas. Bricks and mortar are 
mortar and bricks, until the architect can make them 
something else. Thus it is that in the same famity, in 
the same circumstances, one man rears a stately edifice, 
while his brother, vacillating and incompetent, lives 
forever amid ruins: the. block of granite which was an 
obstacle on the pathway of the weak, becomes a step¬ 
ping-stone on the pathway of the strong.” 

The mechanical law, that action and reaction are 
equal, holds true also in morals. Good deeds act and 
react on the doers of them; and so do evil. Not only 
so: they produce like effects, by the influence of exam¬ 
ple, on those who are the subjects of them. But man 
is not the creature, so much as he is the creator, of cir¬ 
cumstances; and, by the exercise of his free-will, he 
can direct his actions so that they shall be productive 
of good rather than evil. “ Nothing can work me 
damage but myself,” said St. Bernard; “the harm that 
I sustain I carry about with me; and I am never a real 
sufferer but by my own fault.” 

The best sort of character, however, can not be 
formed without effort. There needs the exercise of 
constant self-watchfulness, self-discipline, and self-con¬ 
trol. There may be much faltering, stumbling, and 


70 Formation of Character . 

temporary defeat; difficulties and temptations manifold 
to be battled with and overcome; but if the spirit be 
strong and the heart be upright, no one need despair 
of ultimate success. The very effort to advance—to 
arrive at a higher standard of character than we have 
reached—is inspiring and invigorating; and even though 
we may fall short of it, we can not fail to be improved 
by every honest effort made in an upward direction. 

And with the light of great examples to guide us— 
representatives of humanity in its best forms—every 
one is not only justified, but bound in duty to aim at 
reaching the highest standard of character; not to be¬ 
come the richest in means, but in spirit; not the great¬ 
est in worldly positions, but in true honor; not the most 
intellectual, but the most virtuous; not the most power¬ 
ful and influential, but the most truthful, upright and 
honest. 

Character exhibits itself in conduct, guided and in¬ 
spired by principle, integrity and practical wisdom. In 
its highest form, it is the individual will acting energe¬ 
tically under the influence of religion, morality and rea¬ 
son. It chooses its way considerately, and pursues it 
steadfastly; esteeming duty above reputation, and the 
approval of conscience more than the world’s praise. 
While respecting the personality of others, it preserves 
its own individuality and independence, and has the 
courage to be morally honest, though it may be unpop¬ 
ular, trusting tranquilly to time and experience for rec¬ 
ognition. 

Although the force of example will always exercise 
great influence upon the formation of character, the 


71 


* Force of Character. 

self-originating and sustaining force of one’s own spirit 
must be the main-stay. This alone can hold up the 
life, and give individual independence and energy. “Un¬ 
less man can erect himself above himself,” said Daniel, 
a poet of the Elizabethan era, “ how poor a thing is 
man!” Without a certain degree of practical efficient 
force, compounded of will, which is the root, and wis¬ 
dom, which is the stem of character, life will be indefi¬ 
nite and purposeless—like a body of stagnant water, in¬ 
stead of a running stream doing useful work and keep¬ 
ing the machinery of a district in motion. 

When the elements of character are brought into ac¬ 
tion by determinate will and influenced by high pur¬ 
pose, man enters upon and courageously perseveres in 
the path of duty, at whatever cost of worldly interest, 
he may be said to approach the summit of his being. 
He then exhibits character in its most intrepid form, 
and embodies the highest idea of manliness. The acts 
of such a man become repeated in the life and action of 
others. His very words live and become actions. Thus 
every word of Luther’s rang through Germany like a 
trumpet. As Richter said of him, “his words were 
half-battles.” And thus Luther’s life became transfused 
into the life of his country, and still lives in the charac¬ 
ter of modern Germany. 

It was truly said of Sheridan — who, with all his 
improvidence, was generous, and never gave pain— 
that 

“ His wit in the combat, as gentle as bright, 

Never carried a heart-stain away on its blade.” 

Such also was the character of Fox, who commanded 


72 The Inspiration of Energy . 

the affection and service of others by his uniform heart¬ 
iness and sympathy. He was a man who could always 
be most easily touched on the side of his honor. Thus 
the story is told of a tradesman calling upon him one 
day for the payment of a promissory note which he 
presented. Fox was engaged at the time counting out 
gold. The tradesman asked to be paid from the money 
before him. “ No,” said Fox, “ I owe this money to 
Sheridan; it is a debt of honor; if any accident hap- 
hened to me, he would have nothing to show.” “Then,” 
said the tradesman, “ I change my debt into one of hon¬ 
or;” and he tore up the note. Fox was conquered by 
the act; he thanked the man for his confidence, and 
paid him, saying, “then Sheridan must wait; yours is 
the debt of older standing.” 

The man of character is conscientious. He puts his 
conscience into his work, into his words, into his every 
action. When Cromwell asked the Parliament for 
soldiers in lieu of the decayed serving-men, who filled 
the Commonwealth’s army, he required that they should 
be men “ who made some conscience of what they did;” 
and such were the men of which his celebrated regi¬ 
ment of “ Ironsides” was composed. 

The man of character is also reverential. The pos¬ 
session of this quality marks the noblest and highest type 
of manhood and womanhood; reverence for things con¬ 
secrated by the homage of generations—for high ob¬ 
jects, pure thoughts, and noble aims.—for the great men 
of former times, and the high-minded workers among 
our contemporaries. Reverence is alike indispensable 
to the happiness of individuals, of families, and of na- 


The Conscientious Man . 


73 


tions. Without it there can be no trust, no faith, no 
confidence, either in man or God—neither social peace 
nor social progress. For reverence is but another word 
for religion, which binds men to each other, and all to 
God. 

Energy of will—self-originating force—is the soul of 
every great character. Where it is, there is life; where 
it is not, there is faintness, helplessness, and desponden¬ 
cy. u The strong man and the water-fall,” says the 
proverb, “ channel their own path.” The energetic 
leader of noble spirit not only wins a way for himself, 
but carries others with him. His every act has a per¬ 
sonal significance, indicating vigor, independence, and 
self-reliance, and unconsciously commands respect, ad¬ 
miration, and homage. Such intrepidity of character 
was possessed by Luther, Cromwell, Washington, Pitt, 
Wellington, and all great leaders of men. 

“I am convinced,” said Mr. Gladstone, in describing 
the qualities of the late Lord Palmerston in the House 
of Commons, shortly after his death—“ I am convinced 
that it was the force of will, a sense of duty, and a de¬ 
termination not to give in, that enabled him to make 
himself a model for all of us who yet remain and follow 
him, with feeble and unequal steps, in the discharge of 
our duties; it was that force of will that in point of 
fact did not so much struggle against the infirmities of 
old age, but actually repelled them and kept them at a 
distance. And one other quality there is, at least, that 
may be noticed without the smallest risk of stirring in 
any breast a painful emotion. It is this, that Lord 
Palmerston had a nature incapable of enduring anger 


74 


Contagiousness of Energy . 

or any sentiment of wrath. This freedom from wrath¬ 
ful sentiment was not the result of painful effort, but 
the spontaneous fruit of the mind. It was a noble gift 
of his original nature—a gift which beyond all others it 
was delightful to observe, delightful also to remember 
in connection with him who has left us, and with whom 
we have no longer to do, except in endeavoring to profit 
by his example wherever it can lead us in the path of 
duty and of right, and of bestowing on him those trib¬ 
utes of admiration and affection which he deserves at 
our hands.’ 1 

The great leader attracts to himself men of kindred 
character, drawing them towards him as the loadstone 
draws iron. Thus, Sir John Moore early distinguished 
the three brothers Napier from the crowd of officers by 
whom he was surrounded, and they, on their part, repaid 
him by their passionate admiration. They were capti¬ 
vated by his courtesy, his bravery, and his lofty disin¬ 
terestedness; and he became the model whom they re¬ 
solved to imitate, and, if possible, to emulate. “ Moore’s 
influence,” says the biographer of Sir William Napier, 
“ had a signal effect in forming and maturing their char¬ 
acters; and it is no small glory to have been the hero 
of those three men, while his early discovery of their 
mental and moral qualities is a proof of Moore’s own 
penetration and judgment of character.” 

There is a contagiousness in every example of ener¬ 
getic conduct. The brave man is an inspiration to the 
weak, and compels them, as it were, to follow him. 
Thus Napier relates that at the combat of Vera, when 
the Spanish centre was broken and in flight, a young 


Influence of Washington . 75 

officer, named Havelock, sprang forward, and, waving 
his hat, called upon the Spaniards within sight to follow 
him. Putting spurs to his horse, he leaped the abattis 
which protected the French front, and went headlong 
against them. The Spaniards were electrified; in a 
moment they dashed after him, cheering for u El chico 
hlanco ! ” (the fair boy), and with one shock they' 
broke through the French and sent them flying down 
hill. 

And so it is in ordinary life. The good and the 
great draw others after them; they lighten and lift up 
all who are within reach of their influence. They are 
as so many living centres of beneficent activity. Let 
a man of energetic, and upright character be appointed 
to a position of trust and authority, and all who serve 
under him become, as it were, conscious of an increase 
of power. When Chatham was appointed minister, 
his personal influence was at once felt through all the 
ramifications of office. Every sailor who served under 
Nelson, and knew he was in command, shared the in¬ 
spiration of the hero. 

When Washington consented to act as commander- 
in-chief, it was felt as if the strength of the American 
forces had been more than doubled. Many years later, 
in 1798 , when Washington, grown old, had withdrawn 
from public life and was living in retirement at Mount 
Vernon, and when it seemed probable that France 
would declare war against the United States, President 
Adams wrote to him, saying, “We must have your 
name, if you will permit us to use it; there will be 
more efficacy in it than in many an army." Such was 


76 


The Duke of Wellington . 

the esteem in which the great President’s nobie cnar- 
acter and eminent abilities were held by his country¬ 
men! When the dissolution of the Union at one time 
seemed imminent, and Washington wished to retire 
into private life, Jefferson wrote to him, urging his 
continuance in office. u The confidence of the whole 
Union,” he s'aid, “ centres in you. Your being at the 
helm will be more than an answer to every argument 
which can be used to alarm and lead the people in any 
quarter into violence and secession. * * * There 

is sometimes an eminence of character on which society 
has such peculiar claims as to control the predilection 
of the individual for a particular walk of happiness, 
and restrain him to that alone arising from the present 
and future benedictions of mankind. This seems to be 
your condition, and the law imposed on you by Provi¬ 
dence in forming your character and fashioning the 
events on which it was to operate; and it is to motives 
like these, and not to personal. anxieties of mine or 
others, who have no right to call on you for sacrifices, 
that I appeal from your former determination, and urge 
a revisal of it, on the ground of change in the aspect 
of things.” 

An incident is related by the historian of the Penin¬ 
sular War, illustrative of the personal influence exer¬ 
cised by a great commander over his followers. The 
British army lay at Sauroren, before which Soult was 
advancing, prepared to attack in force. Wellington 
was absent, and his arrival was anxiously looked for. 
Suddenly a single horseman was seen riding up the 
mountain alone. It was the duke, about to join his 


Influence of Character . 


77 


troops. u One of Campbell’s Portuguese battalions 
first descried him, and raised a joyful cry; then the 
shrill clamor, caught up by the next regiment, soon 
swelled as it ran along the line into that appalling shout 
which the British soldier is wont to give upon the edge 
of battle, and which no enemy ever heard unmoved. 
Suddenly he stopped at a conspicuous point, for he 
desired both armies should know he was there, and a 
double spy who was present pointed out Soult, who was 
so near that his features could be distinguished. At¬ 
tentively Wellington fixed his eyes on that formidable 
man, and, as if speaking to himself, he said: “Yonder 
is a great commander; but he is cautious, and will de¬ 
lay his attack to ascertain the cause of those cheers; 
that will give time for the Sixth Division to arrive, and 
I shall beat him,” which he did. 

In some cases, personal character acts by a kind of 
talismanic influence, as if certain men were the organs 
of a sort of supernatural force. “ If I but stamp on 
the ground in Italy,” said Pompey, “ an army will ap¬ 
pear.” At the voice of Peter the Hermit, as described 
by the historian, “ Europe arose and precipitated itself 
upon Asia.” It was said of the Caliph Omar that his 
walking-stick struck more terror into those who saw it 
than another man’s sword. The very names of some 
men are like the sound of a trumpet. When the 
Douglas lay mortally wounded on the field of Otter- 
burn, he ordered his name to be shouted still louder 
than before, saying there was a tradition in his family 
that a dead Douglas should win a battle. His follow¬ 
ers, inspired by the sound, gathered fresh courage, 


7 8 Reverence for Great Men . 

rallied and conquered; and thus, in the words of the 
Scottish poet: 

“ The Douglas dead, his name hath won the field.’' 

There have been some men whose greatest conquests 
have been achieved after they themselves were dead. 
“ Never,” says Michelet, “ was Caesar more alive, more 
powerful, more terrible, than when his old and worn- 
out body, his withered corpse, lay pierced with blows; 
he appeared then purified, redeemed’—that which he 
had been, despite his many stains—the man of human¬ 
ity.” Never did the great character of William of 
Orange, surnamed the Silent, exercise greater power over 
his countrymen than after his assassination at Delft by 
the emissary of the Jesuits. On the very day of his 
murder the Estates of Holland resolved “ to maintain 
the good cause, with God’s help, to the uttermost, 
without sparing gold or blood;” and they kept their 
word. 

Character embodied in thought and deed, is of the 
nature of immortality. The solitary thought of a great 
thinker will dwell in the minds of men for centuries, 
until at length it works itself into their daily life and 
practice. It lives on through the ages, speaking as a 
voice from the dead, and influencing minds living thou¬ 
sands of years apart. Thus, Moses and David and 
Solomon, Plato and Socrates and Xenophon, Seneca 
and Cicero and Epictetus, still speak to us as from their 
tombs. They still arrest the attention, and exercise an 
influence upon character, though their thoughts be con¬ 
veyed in languages unspoken by them, and in their 
time unknown. Theodore Parker has said that a sin- 


Influence of Great Men. 


79 


gle man like Socrates was worth more to a country 
than many such States as South Carolina, that if that 
State went out of the world to-day, she would not have 
done so much for the world as Socrates. Erasmus so 
reverenced the character of Socrates that he said, when 
he considered his life and doctrines, he was inclined to 
put him in the calendar of saints, and to exclaim, Holy 
Socrates, pray for us! 

Great workers and great thinkers are the true makers 
of history, which is but continuous humanity influenced 
by men of character—by great leaders, kings, priests, 
philosophers, statesmen, and patriots—the true aristoc¬ 
racy of man. Indeed, Mr. Carlyle has broadly stated 
that Universal History is, at bottom, but the history of 
Great Men. They certainly mark and designate the 
epochs of national life. Their influence is active, as 
well as reactive. Though their mind is, in a measure, 
the product of their age, the public mind is also, to a 
great extent, their creation. Their individual action 
identifies the cause—the institution. They think great 
thoughts, cast them abroad, and the thoughts make 
events. Thus the early Reformers initiated the Ref¬ 
ormation, and with it the liberation of modern thought. 
Emerson has said that every institution is to be regarded 
as but the lengthened shadow of some great man; as 
Islamism of Mohammed, Puritanism of Calvin, Jesuit¬ 
ism of Loyola, Quakerism of Fox, Methodism of Wes¬ 
ley, Abolitionism of Clarkson. 

Great men stamp their mind upon their age and na¬ 
tion—as Luther did upon modern Germany, and Knox 
upon Scotland. And if there be one man more than 


80 Dante's Injltience on Italy . 

another that stamped his mind on modern Italy, it was 
Dante. During the long centuries of Italian degreda- 
tion his burning words were as a watch-fire and a bea¬ 
con to all true men. He was the herald of his nation’s 
liberty—braving persecution, exile and death, for the 
love of it. He was always the most national of the 
Italian poets, the most loved, the most read. From the 
time of his death all educated Italians had his best pas¬ 
sages by heart; and the sentiments they enshrined in¬ 
spired their lives, and eventually influenced the history 
of their nation. “ The Italians,” wrote Byron in 1821 , 
“ talk Dante, write Dante, and think and dream Dante, 
at this moment, to an excess which would be ridiculous, 
but that he deserves their admiration.” 

Washington left behind him, as one of the greatest 
treasures of his country, the example of a stainless life 
—of a great, honest, pure and noble character—a model 
for the nation to form themselves by in all time to come. 
And in the case of Washington, as in so many other 
great leaders of men, his greatness did not so much con¬ 
sist in his intellect, his skill and his genius, as in his 
honor, his integrity, his truthfulness, his high and con¬ 
trolling sense of duty—in a word, in his genuine nobility 
of character. 

Men such as these are the true life-blood of the coun¬ 
try to which they belong. They elevate and uphold it, 
fortify and ennoble it, and shed a glory over it by the 
example of life and character which they have be¬ 
queathed. u The names and memories of great men,” 
says an able writer, “ are the dowry of a nation. Wi¬ 
dowhood, overthrow, desertion, even slavery, cannot 


81 


Character a Great Legacy. 

take away from her this sacred inheritance. * * * 

Whenever national life begins to quicken * * * the 

dead heroes rise in the memory of men, and appear to 
the living to stand by in solemn spectatorship and ap¬ 
proval. No country can be lost which feels herself 
overlooked by such glorious witnesses. They are the 
salt of the earth, in death as well as in life. What they 
did once, their descendants have still and always a 
right to do after them; and their example lives in their 
country, a continual stimulant and encouragement for 
him who has the soul to adopt it.” 

But it is not great men only that have to be taken 
into account in estimating the qualities of a nation, but 
the character that prevades the great body of the peo¬ 
ple. When Washington Irving visited Abbotsford, Sir 
Walter Scott introduced him to many of his friends 
and favorites, not only among the neighboring farmers, 
but the laboring peasantry. “ I wish to show you,” 
said Scott, u some of our really excellent plain Scotch 
people. The character of a nation is not to be learnt 
from its fine folks, its fine gentlemen and ladies; such you 
meet everywhere, and they are everywhere the same.” 
While statesmen, philosophers and divines represent the 
thinking power of society, the men who found indus¬ 
tries and carve out new careers, as well as the common 
body of working-people, from whom the national strength 
and spirit are from time to time recruited, must neces¬ 
sarily furnish the vital force and constitute the real 
backbone of every nation. 

Nations have their character to maintain as well as 
individuals, and under constitutional goverments— 
6 


82 Character of Nations . 

where all classes more or less participate in the exer¬ 
cise of political power—the national character will ne¬ 
cessarily depend more upon the moral qualities of the 
many than of the few. And the same qualities which 
determine the character of individuals also determine 
the character of nations. Unless they are high-minded, 
truthful, honest, virtuous, and courageous, they will be 
held in light esteem by other nations, and be without 
weight in the world. To have character they must 
needs also be reverential, disciplined, self-controlling, 
and devoted to duty. The nation that has no higher 
god than pleasure, or even dollars or calico, must needs 
be in a poor way. It were better to revert to Homer’s 
gods than be devoted to these, for the heathen deities 
at least imagined human virtues, and were something 
to look up to. 

As for institutions, however good in themselves, they 
will avail but little in maintaining the standard of na¬ 
tional character. It is the individual men, and the spi¬ 
rit which actuates them, that determine the moral stand¬ 
ing and stability of nations. Government, in the long 
run, is usually no better than the people governed. 
Where the mass is sound in conscience, morals and 
habits, the nation will be ruled honestly and nobly. But 
where they are corrupt, self-seeking and dishonest in 
heart, bound neither by truth nor by law, the rule of 
rogues and wire-pullers becomes inevitable. 

The only true barrier against the despotism of pub¬ 
lic opinion, whether it be of the many or of the few, is 
enlightened individual freedom and purity of personal 
character. Without these there can be no vigorous 


Character and Freedom . 


83 


manhood, no true liberty in a nation. Political rights, 
however broadly framed, will not elevate a people indi¬ 
vidually depraved. Indeed, the more complete a sys¬ 
tem of popular suffrage, and the more perfect its 
protection, the more completely will the real character 
of a people be reflected, as by a mirror, in their laws 
and government. Political morality can never have 
any solid existence on a basis of individual immorality. 
Even freedom, exercised by a debased people, would 
come to be regarded as a nuisance, and liberty of the 
press but a vent for licentiousness and moral abomi¬ 
nation. 

Nations, like individuals, derive support and strength 
from the feeling that they belong to an illustrious race, 
that they are the heirs of their greatness, and ought to 
be the perpetuators of their glory. It is of momentous 
importance that a nation should have a great past to 
look back upon. It steadies the life of the present, 
elevates and upholds it, and lightens and lifts it up, by 
the memory of the great deeds, the noble sufferings, 
and the valorous achievements of the men of old. The 
life of nations, as of men, is a great treasury of ex¬ 
perience, which, wisely used, issues in social progress 
and improvement; or, misused, issues in dreams, delu¬ 
sions, and failure. Like men, nations are purified and 
strengthened by trials. Some of the most glorious 
chapters in their history are those containing the record 
of the sufferings by means of which their character has 
been developed. Love of liberty and patriotic feeling 
may have done much, but trial and suffering nobly 
borne more than all. 


84 Nations Strengthened by Trials . 

A great deal of what passes by the name of patriot¬ 
ism in these days consists of the merest bigotry and 
narrow-mindedness; exhibiting itself in national preju¬ 
dice, national conceit, and national hatred. It does not 
show itself in deeds, but in boastings—in howlings, 
gesticulations, and shrieking helplessly for help—in fly¬ 
ing flags and singing songs—and in perpetual grinding 
at long-dead grievances and long-remedied wrongs. 
To be infested by such a patriotism as this is perhaps 
among the greatest curses that can befall any country. 

But as there is an ignoble, so is there a noble patriot¬ 
ism—the patriotism that invigorates and elevates a 
country by noble work—that does its duty truthfully 
and manfully—that lives an honest, sober, and upright 
life, and strives to make the best use of the opportuni¬ 
ties for improvement that present themselves on every 
side; and at the same time a patriotism that cherishes 
the memory and example of the great men of old, who, 
by their sufferings in the cause of religion or of free¬ 
dom, have won for themselves a deathless glory, and 
for their nation those privileges of free life and free 
political institutions of which they are the inheritors 
and possessors. 

Nations are not to oe judged by their size any more 
than individuals: 

“ It is not growing like a. tree 
In bulk, doth make Man better be.” 

For a nation to be great, it need not necessarily be 
large, though size is often confounded with greatness. A 
nation may be very large in point of territorygand popu¬ 
lation, and yet be devoid of true greatness. The peo- 


Decline and Fall of Nations . 85 

pie of Israel were a small people, yet what a great life 
they developed, and how powerful the influence they 
have exercised on the destinies of mankind! Greece 
was not big; the entire population of Attica was less 
than that of Illinois. Athens was less populous than 
New York; and yet how great it was in art, in litera¬ 
ture, in philosophy, and in patriotism! A public orator 
lately spoke with contempt of the Battle of Marathon, 
because only 192 men perished on the side of the Athe¬ 
nians, whereas by improved mechanism and destructive 
chemicals, some 50,000 men or more may now be de¬ 
stroyed within a few hours. Yet the Battle of Mara¬ 
thon, and the heroism displayed in it, will probably 
continue to be remembered when the gigantic butcher¬ 
ies of modern times have been forgotten. 

But it was the fatal weakness of Athens that its citi¬ 
zens had no true family or home life, while its freemen 
were greatly outnumbered by its slaves. Its public 
men were loose, if not corrupt, in morals. Its women, 
even the most accomplished, were unchaste. Hence 
its fall became inevitable, and was even more sudden 
than its rise. 

In like manner, the decline and fall of Rome was 
attributable to the general corruption of its people, and 
to their engrossing love of pleasure and idleness—work, 
in the latter days of Rome, being regarded only as fit 
for slaves. Its citizens ceased to pride themselves on 
the virtues of character of their great forefathers; and 
the empire fell because it did not deserve to live. And 
so the nations that are idle and luxurious—that “ will 
rather lose a pound of blood,” as old Burton says, “ in 


86 


Stability of Character . 

a single combat, than a drop of sweat in any honest 
labor ’’—must inevitably die out, and laborious, ener¬ 
getic nations take their place. 

When Louis XIV. asked Colbert how it was that, 
ruling so great and populous a country as France, he 
had been unable to conquer so small a country as Hol¬ 
land, the minister replied: “ Because, sire, the greatness 
of a country does not depend upon the extent of its 
territory, but on the character of its people. It is be¬ 
cause of the industry, the frugality, and the energy of 
the Dutch that your majesty has found them so difficult 
to* overcome.” 

It is also related of Spinola and Richardet, the am¬ 
bassadors sent by the King of Spain to negotiate a 
treaty at the Hague in 1608, that one day they saw 
some eight or ten persons land from a little boat, and, 
sitting down upon the grass, proceed to make a meal 
of bread-and-cheese and beer. u Who are those travel¬ 
ers? ” asked the ambassadors of a peasant. “ These are 
our worshipful masters, the deputies from the States,” 
was his reply. Spinola at once whispered to his com¬ 
panion, “We must make peace: these are not men to 
be conquered.” 

In fine, stability of institutions must depend upon 
stability of character. Any 'number of depraved units 
can not form a great nation. The people may seem to 
be highly civilized, and yet be ready to fall to pieces at 
the first touch of adversity. Without integrity of in¬ 
dividual character, they can have no real strength, co¬ 
hesion or soundness. They may be rich, polite, and 
artistic, and yet hovering on the brink of ruin. If liv- 


Individual Character . 


87 


ing for themselves only, and with no end but pleasure— 
each little self his own little god—such a nation is 
doomed, and its decay is inevitable. 

Where national character ceases to be upheld, a na¬ 
tion may be regarded as next to lost. Where it ceases 
to esteem and to practice the virtues of truthfulness, 
honesty, integrity, and justice, it does not deserve to 
live. And when the time arrives in any country when 
wealth has so corrupted, or pleasure so depraved, or 
faction so infatuated the people, that honor, order, obe¬ 
dience, virtue, and loyalty have seemingly become 
things of the past; then, amidst the darkness, when 
honest men—if, haply, there be such left—are groping 
about and feeling for each other’s hands, their only re¬ 
maining hope will be in the restoration and elevation of 
Individual Character; for by that alone can a nation be 
saved; and if character be irrecoverably lost, then indeed 
there will be nothing left worth saving. 





CHAPTER IV. 


HOME POWER. 

“ Live as long as you may, the first twenty years is the longest half of your 
life.”— Southey. 

OME is the first and most important school of 
character. It is there that every human being 
receives his best moral training, or his worst; 
for it is there that he imbibes those principles 
of conduct which endure through manhood, and cease 
only with life. 

It is a common saying that “ Manners make the 
man;” and there is a second, that “Mind makes the 
man; ” but truer than either is a third, that “ Home 
makes the man.” For the home-training includes not 
only manners and mind, but character. It is mainly in 
the home that the heart is opened, the habits are formed, 
the intellect is awakened, and character moulded for 
good or for evil. 

From that source, be it pure or impure, issue the 
principles and maxims that govern society. Law itself 
is but the reflex of homes. The tiniest bits of opinion 
sown in the minds of children in private life, afterwards 
issue forth to the world, and become its public opinion; 
for nations are gathered out of nurseries, and they who 
hold the leading-strings of children may even exercise a 








Home and Civilization. 


89 


greater power than those who wield the reins of gov¬ 
ernment. 

It is in the order of nature that domestic life should 
be preparatory to social, and that the mind and char¬ 
acter should first be formed in the home. There the 
individuals who afterwards form society are dealt with 
in detail, and fashioned one by one. From the family 
they enter life, and advance from boyhood to citizen¬ 
ship. Thus the home may be regarded as the most 
influential school of civilization. For, after all, civiliza¬ 
tion mainly resolves itself into a question of individual 
training, and according as the respective members of 
society are well or ill trained in youth, so will the com¬ 
munity which they constitute be more or less human¬ 
ized and civilized. 

The training of any man, even the wisest, cannot fail 
to be powerfully influenced by the moral surroundings 
of his early years. He comes into the world helpless, 
and absolutely dependent upon those about him for nurv 
ture and culture. From the very first breath that he 
draws, his education begins. When a mother once 
asked a clergyman when she should begin the educa¬ 
tion of her child, then four years old, he replied: “-Mad¬ 
am, if you have not begun already, you have lost those 
four years. From the first smile that gleams upon an 
infant’s cheek, your opportunity begins.” 

However apparently trival the influences which con¬ 
tribute to form the character of the child, they endure 
through life. The child’s character is the nucleus of 
the man’s; all after-education is but superposition; the 
form of the crystal remains the same. Thus the saying 


90 


Domestic Training. 

of the poet holds true in a large degree, “ The child is 
father of the man;” or, as Milton puts it, “ The child¬ 
hood shows the man, as morning shows the day.” 
Those impulses to conduct which last the longest and 
are rooted the deepest, always have their origin near 
our birth. It is then that the germs of virtues or vices, 
of feelings or sentiments, are first implanted which de¬ 
termine the character for life. 

The child is, as it were, laid at the gate of a new 
world, and opens his eyes upon things all of which are 
full of novelty and wonderment. At first it is enough 
for him to gaze, but by-and-by he begins to see, to ob¬ 
serve, to compare, to learn, to store up impressions 
and ideas, and under wise guidance the progress which 
he makes is really wonderful. Lord Brougham has ob¬ 
served that between the ages of eighteen and thirty 
months, a child learns more of the material world, of his 
own powers, of the nature of other bodies, and even of 
his own mind and other minds, than he acquires in all 
the rest of his life. The knowledge which a child ac¬ 
cumulates, and the ideas generated in his mind, during 
this period, are so important, that if we could imagine 
thereto be afterwards obliterated, all the learning of a 
senior wrangler at Cambridge, or a first-classman at 
Oxford, would be as nothing to it, and would literally 
not enable its object to prolong his existence for a week. 

It is in childhood that the mind is most open to im¬ 
pressions, and ready to be kindled by the first spark 
that falls into it. Ideas are then caught quickly and 
retained. Thus Scott is said to have received his first 
bent towards ballad literature from his mother’s and 


Home Influences . 


91 


grandmother’s recitations in his hearing, long before he 
himself had learned to read. Childhood is like a mir¬ 
ror, which reflects in after life the images first presented 
to it. The first thing continues forever with the child. 
The first joy, the first sorrow, the first success, the first 
failure, the first achievement, the first misadventure, 
paint the foreground of his life. 

All this while, too, the training of his character is in 
progress—of the temper, the will and the habits—on 
which so much of the happiness of human beings in 
after-life depends. Although man is endowed with a 
certain self-acting, self-helping power of contributing to 
his own development, independent of surrounding cir¬ 
cumstances, and of reacting upon the life around him, 
the bias given to his moral character in early life is of 
immense importance. Place even the highest-minded 
philosopher in the midst of daily discomfort, immoral¬ 
ity and vileness, and he will insensibly gravitate towards 
brutality. How much more susceptible is the impres¬ 
sionable and helpless child amidst such surroundings! 
It is not possible to rear a kindly nature, sensitive to 
evil, pure in mind and heart, amidst coarseness, discom¬ 
fort, and impurity. 

Thus homes, which are the nurseries of children who 
grow up into men and women, will be good or bad, ac¬ 
cording to the power that governs them. Where the 
spirit of love and duty pervades the home—where head 
and heart bear rule wisely there—where the daily life 
is honest and virtuous—where the government is sensi¬ 
ble, kind, and loving, then may we expect from such a 
home an issue of healthy, useful, and happy beings, ca- 


9 2 Surroundings of Children . 

pable, as they gam the requisite strength, of following 
the footsteps of their parents, of walking uprightly, 
governing themselves wisely, and contributing to the 
welfare of those about them. 

On the other hand, if surrounded by ignorance, 
coarseness, and selfishness, they will unconsciously as¬ 
sume the same character, and grow up to adult years 
rude, uncultivated, and all the more dangerous to society 
if placed amidst the manifold temptations of what is 
called civilized life. “ Give your child to be educated 
by a slave,” said an ancient Greek, “ and, instead of 
one slave, you will then have two.” 

The child can not help imitating what he sees. Ev¬ 
ery thing is to him a model—of manner, of gesture, of 
speech, of habit, of character. “ For the child,” says 
Richter, “ the most important era of life is that of child¬ 
hood, when he begins to color and mould himself by 
companionship with others. Every new educator effects 
less than his predecessor; until at last, if we regard all 
life as an educational institution, a circumnavigator of 
the world is less influenced by all the nations he has 
seen than by his nurse.” Models are, therefore, of 
every importance in moulding the nature of the child; 
and if we would have fine characters, we must neces¬ 
sarily present before them fine models. Now, the 
model most constantly before every child’s eye is the 
mother. 

One good mother, said George Herbert, is worth a 
hundred school-masters. In the home she is “ load¬ 
stone to all hearts, a loadstar to all eyes.” Imitation 
of her is constant—imitation, which Bacon likens to a 


Power of Example. 


93 


41 globe of precepts.” But example is far more than 
precept. It is instruction in action. It is teaching 
without words, often exemplifying more than tongue 
cap teach. In the face of bad example, the best of 
precepts are of but little avail. The example is fol¬ 
lowed, not the precepts. Indeed, precept at variance 
with practice is worse than useless,, inasmuch as it only* 
serves to teach the most cowardly of vices—hypocrisy. 
Even children are judges of consistency, and the lessons 
of the parent who says one thing and does the opposite, 
are quickly seen through. The teaching of the friar 
was not worth much who preached the virtue of hon¬ 
esty with a stolen goose in his sleeve. 

By imitation of acts, the character becomes slowiy 
and imperceptibly, but at length decidedly formed. 
The several acts may seem in themselves trivial; but so 
are the continuous acts of daily life. Like snow-flakes, 
they fall unperceived; each flake added to the pile pro¬ 
duces no sensible change, and yet the accumulation of 
snow-flakes makes the avalanche. So do repeated acts, 
one following another, at length become consolidated 
in habit, determine the action of the human being for 
good or for evil, and, in a word, form the character. 

It is because the mother, far more than the father, 
influences the action and conduct of the child, that her 
good example is of so much greater importance in the 
home. It is easy to understand how this should be so. 
The home is the woman’s domain—her kingdom, where 
she exercises entire control. Her power over the little 
subjects she rules there is absolute. They look up to 
her for every thing. She is the example and model 


94 


Maternal Love . 


constantly before their eyes, whom they unconsciously 
observe and imitate. 

Cowley, speaking of the influence of early example,, 
and ideas early implanted in the mind, compares th»m 
to letters cut in the bark of a young tree, which grow 
and widen with age. The impressions then made, how¬ 
soever slight they may seem, are never effaced. The 
ideas then implanted in the mind are like seeds dropped 
into the ground, which lie there and germinate for a 
time, afterwards springing up in acts and thoughts and 
habits. Thus the mother lives again in her children. 
They unconsciously mould themselves after her man¬ 
ner, her speech, her conduct, and her method of life. 
Her habits become theirs; and her character is visibly 
repeated in them. 

This maternal k>ve is the visible providence of our 
race. Its influence is constant and universal. It begins 
with the education of the human being at the outstart 
of life, and is prolonged by virtue of the powerful in¬ 
fluence which every good mother exercises over her 
children through life. When launched into the world, 
each to take part in its labors, anxieties, and trials, they 
still turn to their mother for consolation, if not for 
counsel, in their time of trouble and difficulty. The 
pure and good thoughts she has implanted in their 
minds when children continue to grow up into good 
acts long after she is dead; and when there is nothing 
but a memory of her left, her children rise up and call 
her blessed. 

It is not saying too much to aver that the happiness 
or misery, the enlightenment or ignorance, the civiliza- 


Boyhood of St. Augustine . 95 

tion or barbarism of the world, depends in a very high 
degree upon the exercise of woman’s power within her 
special kingdom of home. Indeed, Emerson says, 
broadly and truly, that “ a sufficient measure of civili¬ 
zation is the influence of good women.” Posterity may 
be said to lie before us in the person of the child in the 
mother’s lap. What that child will eventually become, 
mainly depends upon the training and example which 
he has received from his first and most influential edu¬ 
cator. 

Woman, above all other educators, educates humanly. 
Man is the brain, but woman is the heart of humanity; 
he its judgment, she its feeling; he its strength, she its 
grace, ornament, and solace. Even the understanding 
of the best woman seems to work mainly through her 
affections. And thus, though man may direct the in¬ 
tellect, woman cultivates the feelings, which mainly 
determine the character. While he fills the memory, 
she occupies the heart. She makes us love what he 
can only make us believe, and it is chiefly through her 
that we are*enabled to arrive at virtue. 

The respective influences of the father and the mother 
on the training and developing of character are re¬ 
markably illustrated in the life of St. Augustine. While 
Augustine’s father, a poor freeman of Thagaste, proud 
of his son’s abilities, endeavored to furnish his mind 
with the highest learning of the schools, and was ex¬ 
tolled by his neighbors for the sacrifices he made with 
that object “ beyond the ability of his means”—his 
mother, Monica, on the other hand, sought to lead her 
son’s mind in the direction of the highest good, and 


96 Early Impressions . 

with pious care counselled him, entreated him, advised 
him to chastity, and, amidst much anguish and tribula¬ 
tion, because of his wicked life, never ceased to pray 
for him until her prayers were heard and answered. 
Thus her love at last triumphed, and the patience and 
goodness of the mother were rewarded, not only by the 
conversion of her gifted son, but also of her husband. 
Later in life, and after her husband’s death, Monica, 
drawn by her affection, followed her son to Milan to watch 
over him, and there she died, when he was in his thir¬ 
ty-third year. But it was in the earlier period of his 
life that her example and instruction made the deepest 
impression upon his mind, and determined his future 
character. 

There are many similar instances of early impressions 
made upon a child’s mind, springing up into good acts 
late in life, after an intervening period of selfishness and 
vice. Parents may do all that they can to develop an 
upright and virtuous character in their children, and 
apparently in vain. It seems like bread cast upon the 
waters and lost. And yet sometimes it happens that 
long after the parents have gone to their rest—it may 
be twenty years or more—the good precept, the good 
example set before their sons and daughters in child¬ 
hood, at length springs up and bears fruit. 

One of the most remarkable of such instances was 
that of the Reverend John Newton, of Olney, the friend 
of Cowper, the poet. It was long subsequent to the 
death of both his parents, and after leading a vicious 
life as a youth and as a seaman, that he became sud¬ 
denly awakened to a sense of his depravity, and then it 


97 


Recollections of 7outh. 

was that the lessons which his mother had given him 
when a child sprang up vividly in his memory. Her 
voice came to him as it were from the dead, and led 
him gently back to virtue and goodness. 

Another instance is that of John Randolph, the Ame¬ 
rican statesman, who once said: “I should have been 
an atheist if it had not been for one recollection—and 
that was the memory of the time when my departed 
mother used to take my little hand in hers and cause 
me on my knees to say, ‘ Our Father who art in 
heaven!’ ” 

But such instances must, on the whole, be regarded 
as exceptional. As the character is biased in early life, 
so it generally remains, gradually assuming its perma¬ 
nent form as manhood is reached. “ Live as long 
as you may,'’ said Southey, “the first twenty years 
are the longest half of your life,” and they are by far 
the most pregnant in consequences. When the worn- 
out slanderer and voluptuary, Dr. Wolcot, lay on his 
death bed, one of his friends asked if he could do any¬ 
thing to gratify him. “Yes,” said the dying man, 
eagerly, “ give me back my youth.” Give him but 
that, and he would repent—he would reform. But it 
was all too late! His life had become bound and en¬ 
thralled by the chains of habit. 

Gretry, the musical composer, thought so highly of 
the importance of woman as an educator of character, 
that he described a good mother as “ Nature’s master¬ 
piece.” And he was right: for good mothers, far 
more than fathers, tend to the perpetual renovation of 
mankind, creating as they do the moral atmosphere of 
7 


98 


Home ihe Best School . 


the home, which is the nutriment of man’s moral being*, 
as the physical atmosphere is of his corporeal frame. 
By good temper, suavity and kindness, directed by in¬ 
telligence, woman surrounds the in-dwellers with a per¬ 
vading atmosphere of cheerfulness, contentment, and 
peace, suitable for the growth of the purest as of the 
manliest natures. 

The poorest dwelling, presided over by a virtuous, 
thrifty, cheerful, and cleanly woman, may thus be the 
abode of comfort, virtue and happiness; it may be the 
scene of every ennobling relation in family life; it may 
be endeared to a man by many delightful associations; 
furnishing a sanctuary for the heart, a refuge from the 
storms of life, a sweet resting-place after labor, a con¬ 
solation in misfortune, a pride in prosperity, and a joy 
at all times. 

The good home is thus the best of schools, not only 
in youth, but in age. There young and old best learn 
cheerfulness, patience, self-control, and the spirit of serv¬ 
ice and of duty. Izaak Walton, speaking of George 
Herbert’s mother, says she governed her family with 
judicious care, not rigidly or sourly, “ but with such a 
sweetness and compliance with the recreations and 
pleasures of youth, as did incline them to spend much 
of their time in her company, which was to her great 
content.” 

The home is the true school of courtesy, of which 
woman is always the best practical instructor. Philan¬ 
thropy radiates from the home as from a centre. “ To 
love the little platoon we belong to in society,” said 
Burke, “is the germ of all public affections.” The 


The Best Nursery of Character . 99 

wisest and the best have not been ashamed to own it to 
be their greatest joy and happiness to sit “ behind the 
heads of children” in the inviolable circle of home. A 
life of purity and duty there is not the least effectual 
preparative for a life of public work and duty; and the 
man who loves his home will not the less fondly love 
and serve his country. 

But while homes, which are the nurseries of charac¬ 
ter, may be the best of schools, they may also be the 
worst. Between childhood and manhood how incalcu¬ 
lable is the mischief which ignorance in the home has 
the power to cause ! Between the drawing of the first 
breath and the last, how vast is the moral suffering and 
disease occasioned by incompetent mothers and nurses! 
Commit a child to the care of a worthless, ignorant 
woman, and no culture in after-life will remedy the evil 
you have done. Let the mother be idle, vicious, and a 
slattern; let her home be pervaded by cavilling, petu¬ 
lance, and discontent, and it will become a dwelling of 
misery — a place to fly from, rather than to fly to; and 
the children whose misfortune it is to be brought up 
there will be morally dwarfed and deformed — the cause 
of misery to themselves as well as to others. 

Napoleon Bonaparte was accustomed to say that “ the 
future good or bad conduct of a child depended entirely 
on the mother.” He himself attributed his rise in life 
in a great measure to the training of his will, his energy, 
and his self-control, by his mother at home. “ Nobody 
had any command over him,” says one of his biograph¬ 
ers, “ except his mother, who found means, by a mixture 
of tenderness, severity, and justice, to make him love, 


100 The Mother's Influence . 

respect, and obey her; from her he learnt the virtue of 
obedience.” 

A curious illustration of the dependence of the char¬ 
acter of children on that of the mother incidentally 
occurs in one of Mr. Tufnell’s school reports. The 
truth, he observes, is so well established that it has 
even been made subservient to mercantile calculation. 
u I was informed,” he says, u in a large factory, where 
many children were employed, that the managers before 
they engaged a boy always inquired into the mother’s 
character, and if that was satisfactory they were toler¬ 
ably certain that her children would conduct themselves 
creditably. No attention was paid to the character of 
the father .” 

It has also been observed that in cases where the 
father has turned out badly—become a drunkard, and 
“ gone to the dogs ”—provided the mother is prudent 
and sensible, the family will be kept together, and the 
children probably make their way honorably in life; 
whereas in cases of the opposite sort, where the mother 
turns out badly, no matter how well-conducted the 
father may be, the instances of after-success in life on 
the part of the children are comparatively rare. 

The greater part of the influence exercised by women 
on the formation of character necessarily remains un¬ 
known. They accomplish their best works in the quiet 
seclusion of the home and the family, by sustained effort 
and patient perseverance in the path of duty. Their 
greatest triumphs, because private and domestic, are 
rarely recorded; and it is not often, even in the biog¬ 
raphies of distinguished men, that we hear of the share 


Power of Good Women. 


101 


which their mothers have had in the formation of their 
character, and in. giving them a bias towards goodness. 
Yet are they not on that account without their reward. 
The influence they have exercised, though unrecorded, 
lives after them, and goes on propagating itself in con¬ 
sequences forever. 

We do not so often hear of great women, as we do of 
great men. It is of good women that we mostly hear; 
and it is probable that, by determining the character of 
men and women for good, they are doing even greater 
work than if they were to paint great pictures, write 
great books, or compose great operas. “ It is quite 
true,” said Joseph de Maistre, “ that women have pro¬ 
duced no master pieces. They have written no ‘ Iliad,’ 
nor ‘Jerusalem Delivered,’ nor ‘ Hamlet,’ nor ‘ Phaedre,’ 
nor ‘ Paradise Lost,’ nor ‘ Tartufle; ’ they have designed 
no Church of St. Peter’s, composed no ‘ Messiah,’ carved 
no ‘Apollo Belvedere,’ painted no ‘Last Judgment;’ 
they have invented neither algebra, nor telescopes, nor 
steam-engines; but they have done something far greater 
and better than all this, for it is at their knees that up¬ 
right and virtuous men and women have been trained 
—the most excellent productions in the world.” 

De Maistre, in his letters and writings, speaks of his 
own mother with immense love and reverence. Her 
noble character made all other women venerable in his 
eyes. He described her as his “ sublime mother ”— 
“ an angel to whom God had lent a body for a brief 
season.” To her he attributed the bent of his charac¬ 
ter, and all his bias towards good; and when he had 
grown to mature years, while acting as ambassador at 


102 Johnson and Washington . 

the Court of St. Petersburg, he referred to her noble 
example and precepts as the ruling influence in his life. 

One of the most charming features in the character 
of Samuel Johnson, notwithstanding his rough and 
shaggy exterior, was the tenderness with which he 
invariably spoke of his mother—a woman of strong 
understanding, who firmly implanted in his mind, as he 
himself acknowledges, his first impressions of religion. 
He was accustomed, even in the time of his greatest 
difficulties, to contribute largely, out of his slender 
means, to her comfort; and one of his last acts of filial 
duty was to write “ Rasselas ” for the purpose of pay¬ 
ing her little debts and defraying her funeral charges. 

George Washington was only eleven years of age— 
the eldest of five children—when his father died, leav¬ 
ing his mother a widow. She was a woman of rare 
excellence, full of resources, a good woman of business, 
an excellent manager, and possessed of much strength 
of character. She had her children to educate and 
bring up, a large household to govern, and extensive 
estates to manage, all of which she accomplished with 
complete success. Her good sense, assiduity, tenderness, 
industry and vigilance enabled her to overcome every 
obstacle, and, as the richest reward of her solicitude 
and toil, she had the happiness to see all her children 
come forward with a fair promise into life, filling the 
spheres allotted to them in a manner equally honorable 
to themselves, and to the parent who had been the only 
guide of their principles, conduct and habits. 

The biographer of Cromwell says little about the 
Protector’s father, but dwells upon the character of his 


Cromwell and Wellington . 103 

mother, whom he describes as a woman of rare vigor 
and decision of purpose: “ A woman,” he says, “pos¬ 
sessed of the glorious faculty of self-help when other 
assistance failed her, ready for the demands of fortune 
in its extremest adverse turn, of spirit and energy equal 
to her mildness and patience, who, with the labor of 
her own hands, gave dowries to five daughters suffi¬ 
cient to marry them into families as honorable but 
more wealthy than their own, whose single pride was 
honesty, and whose passion was love, who preserved 
in the gorgeous palace at Whitehall the simple tastes 
that distinguished her in the old brewery at Hunt¬ 
ingdon, and whose only care, amidst all her splen¬ 
dor, was for the safety of her son in his dangerous emi¬ 
nence.” 

We have spoken of the mother of Napoleon Bona¬ 
parte as a woman of great force of character. Not less 
so was the mother of the Duke of Wellington, whom 
her son strikingly resembled in features, person and 
character, while his father was principally distinguished 
as a musical composer and performer. But, strange to 
say, Wellington’s mother mistook him for a dunce, and for 
some reason or other, he was not such a favorite as her 
other children, until his great deeds in after-life con¬ 
strained her to be proud of him. 

The Napiers were blessed in both parents, but es¬ 
pecially in their mother, Lady Sarah Lennox, who ear¬ 
ly sought to inspire their sons’ minds with elevating 
thoughts, admiration of noble deeds, and a chivalrous 
spirit, which became embodied in their lives, and con* 


104 Brougham and Canning, 

tinued to sustain them, until death, in the path of duty 
and of honor. 

Among statesmen, lawyers and divines, we find 
marked mention made of the mothers of Lord Chancel¬ 
lors Bacon, Erskine and Brougham, all women of great 
ability, and in the case of the first, of great learning; 
as well as of the mothers of Canning, Curran and Presi¬ 
dent Adams, of Herbert, Paley and Wesley. Lord 
Brougham speaks in terms almost approaching rever¬ 
ence of his grandmother, the sister of Professor Robert¬ 
son, as having been mainly instrumental in instilling in¬ 
to his mind a strong desire for information, and the first 
principles of that persevering energy in the pursuit of 
every kind of knowledge which formed his prominent 
characteristic throughout life. 

Canning’s mother was an Irish woman of great natu¬ 
ral ability, for whom her gifted son entertained the 
greatest love and respect to the close of his career. She 
was a woman of no ordinary intellectual power. “ In¬ 
deed,” says Canning’s biographer, “were we not other¬ 
wise assused of the fact from direct sources, it would be 
impossible to contemplate his profound and touching de¬ 
votion to her without being led to conclude that the 
object of such unchanging attachment must have been 
possessed of rare and commanding qualities. She was 
esteemed by the circle in which she lived as a woman 
of great mental energy. Her conversation was animated 
and vigorous, and marked by a distinct originality of 
manner and a choice of topics fresh and striking, and 
out of the commonplace routine. To persons who 


Curran and Adams . 


105 


were but slightly acquainted with her, the energy of 
her manner had even something of the air of eccen¬ 
tricity.” 

Curran speaks with great affection of his mother, as 
a woman of strong original understanding, to whose 
wise counsel, consistent piety, and lessons of honorable 
ambition, which she diligently enforced on the minds 
of her children, he himself principally attributed his 
success in life. “ The only inheritance,” he used to say, 
“ that I could boast of from my poor father was the 
very scanty one of an unattractive face and person, 
like his own, and if the world has ever attributed to 
me something more valuable than face or person, or 
than earthly wealth, it was that another and a dearer 
parent gave her child a portion from the treasure of her 
mind.” 

When ex-President Adams was present at the ex¬ 
amination of a girls’ school at Boston, he was presented 
by the pupils with an address which deeply affected 
him, and in acknowledging it, he took the opportunity 
of referring to the lasting influence which womanly 
training and association had exercised upon his own 
life and character. u As a child,” he said, “ I enjoyed 
perhaps the greatest of blessings that can be bestowed 
on man—that of a mother who was anxious and capa¬ 
ble to form the characters of her children rightly. 
From her I derived whatever instruction (religious es¬ 
pecially, and moral) has prevaded a long life—I will not 
say perfectly, or as it ought to be, but I will say, be¬ 
cause it is only justice to the memory of her I revere, 
that in the course of that life, whatever imperfection 


106 


Mother of the Wesleys. 


there has been, or deviation from what she taught me, 
the fault is mine and not hers.” 

The Wesleys were peculiarly linked to their parents 
by natural piety, though the mother, rather than the 
father, influenced their minds and developed their char¬ 
acters. The father was a man of strong will, but occa¬ 
sionally harsh and tyrannical in his dealings with his 
family, while the mother, with much strength of under¬ 
standing and ardent love of truth, was gentle, persua¬ 
sive, affectionate and simple. She was the teacher and 
cheerful companion of her children, who gradually be¬ 
came moulded by her example. It was through the 
bias given by her to her sons’ minds in religious mat¬ 
ters that they acquired the tendency which, even in 
early years, drew to them the name of Methodist. In 
a letter to her son, Samuel Wesley, when a scholar at 
Westminster in 1709, she said: “I would advise you as 
much as possible to throw your business into a certain 
method , by which means you will learn to improve ev¬ 
ery precious moment, and find an unspeakable facility 
in the performance of your respective duties.” This 
“ method” she went on to describe, exhorting her son 
“in all things to act upon principle;” and the society 
which the brothers, John and Charles, afterward founded 
at Oxford is supposed to have been in a great measure 
the result of her exhortations. 

In the case of poets, literary men, and artists, the in¬ 
fluence of the mother’s feeling and taste has doubtless 
had great effect in directing the genius of their sons; 
and we find this especially illustrated in the lives of 
Gray, Thomson, Scott, Southey, Bulwer, Schiller, and 


Mothers of Poets . 


107 


Goethe. Gray inherited, almost complete, his kind and 
loving nature from his mother, while his father was 
harsh and unamiable. Gray was, in fact, a feminine man 
—shy, reserved, and wanting in energy—but thorough¬ 
ly irreproachable in life and character. The poet’s 
mother maintained the family after her unworthy hus¬ 
band had deserted her; and, at her death, Gray placed' 
on her grave, an epitaph describing her as u the careful, 
tender mother of many children, one of whom alone had 
the misfortune to survive her.” The poet himself was, 
at his own desire, interred beside her worshipped grave. 

Goethe, like Schiller, owed the bias of his mind and 
character to his mother, who was a woman of extraor¬ 
dinary gifts. She was full of joyous, flowing mother- 
wit, and possessed in a high degree the art of stimula¬ 
ting young and active minds, instructing them in the 
science of life out of the treasures of her abundant ex¬ 
perience. After a lengthened interview with her, an 
enthusiastic traveler said, “ Now do I understand how 
Goethe has become the man he is.” Goethe himself 
affectionately cherished her memory. “ She was wor¬ 
thy of life! ” he once said of her; and when he visited 
Frankfort, he sought out every individual who had been 
kind to his mother, and thanked them all. 

It was Ary Scheffer’s mother — whose beautiful fea¬ 
tures the painter so loved to reproduce in his pictures 
of Beatrice, St. Monica, and others of his works — that 
encouraged his study of art, and by great self-denial 
provided him with the means of pursuing it. While 
living at Dordrecht, in Holland, she first sent him to 
Lille to study, and afterwards to Paris; and her letters 


108 


Ary Scheffer's Mother . 

to him, while absent, were always full of sound moth¬ 
erly advice, and affectionate womanly sympathy. “ If 
you could but see me,” she wrote on one occasion, 
“ kissing your picture, then, after a while, taking it up 
again, and, with a tear in my eye, calling you 1 my be¬ 
loved son,’ you would comprehend what it costs me 
to use sometimes the stern language of authority, and 
to occasion to you moments of pain * * * Work 

diligently—be, above all, modest and humble; and when 
you find yourself excelling others, then compare what 
you have done with Nature itself, or with the 4 ideal of 
your own mind, and you will be secured, by the con¬ 
trast which will be apparent, against the effects of pride 
and presumption/ ” 

Long years after, when Ary Scheffer was himself a 
grandfather, he remembered with affection the advice 
of his mother, and repeated it to his children. And 
thus the vital power of good example lives on from gen¬ 
eration to generation, keeping the world ever fresh and 
young. Writing to his daughter, Madame Marjolin, 
in 1846, his departed mother’s advice- recurred to him, 
and he said: “The word must —fix it well in your 
memory, dear child; your grandmother seldom had it 
out of hers. The truth is, that through our lives noth¬ 
ing brings any good fruit except what is earned by 
either the work of the hands or by the exertion of one’s 
self-denial. Sacrifices must, in short, be ever going on 
if we would obtain any comfort or happiness. Now 
that I am no longer young, I declare that few passages 
in my life afford me so much satisfaction as those in 
which I made sacrifices or denied myself enjoyments. 


Michelet's Tribute to his Mother . 109 

“The Forbidden ” is the motto of the wise man. Self- 
denial is the quality of which Jesus Christ set us the 
example. 

The French historian Michelet makes the following 
touching reference to his mother in the Preface to one 
of his most popular books, the subject of much embit¬ 
tered controversy at the time at which it appeared: 

“ While writing all this, I have had in my mind a 
woman whose strong and serious mind would not have 
failed to support me in these contentions. I lost her 
thirty years ago (I was a child then)—nevertheless, 
ever living in my memory, she follows me from age to 
age. 

“ She suffered with me in my poverty, and was not 
allowed to share my better fortune. When young, I 
made her sad, and now I can not console her. I know 
not even where her bones are: I was too poor then to 
buy earth to bury her! 

w And yet I owe her much. I feel deeply that I am 
the son of woman. Every instant, in my ideas and 
words (not to mention my features and gestures), I find 
again my mother in myself. It is my mother’s blood 
which gives me the sympathy I feel for by-gone ages, 
and the tender remembrance of all those who are now 
no more. 

“ What return, then, could I, who am myself advan¬ 
cing towards old age, make her for the many things I 
owe her? One, for which she would have thanked me 
—this protest in favor of women and mothers.” 

But while a mother may greatly influence the poetic 
or artistic mind of her son for good, she may also in- 


110 Byron and Foote. 

fluence it for evil. Thus the characteristics of Lord 
Byron—the waywardness of his impulses, his defiance 
of restraint, the bitterness of his hate, and the precipi¬ 
tancy of his resentments—were traceable in no small 
degree to the adverse influences exercised upon his 
mind from his birth by his capricious, violent and head¬ 
strong mother. She even taunted her son with his per¬ 
sonal deformity; and it was no unfrequent occurrence, 
in the violent quarrels which occurred between them, 
for her to take up the poker or tongs and hurl them 
after him as he fled from her presence. It was this 
unnatural treatment that gave a morbid turn to Byron’s 
after-life; and, care-worn, unhappy, great, and yet weak, 
as he was, he carried about with him the mother’s 
poison which he had sucked in his infancy. 

In like manner, though in a different way, the char¬ 
acter of Mrs. Foote, the actor’s mother, was curiously 
repeated in the life of her joyous, jovial-hearted son. 
Though she had been heiress to a large fortune, she 
soon spent it all, and was at length imprisoned for debt. 
In this condition she wrote to Sam, who had been allow¬ 
ing her a hundred a year out of the proceeds of his 
acting: “ Dear Sam, I am in prison for debt; come and 
assist your loving mother, E. Foote.” To which her 
son characteristically replied—“ Dear mother, so am I; 
which prevents his duty being paid to his loving mother 
by her affectionate son, Sam Foote.” 

We have spoken of the mother of Washington as 
an excellent woman of business; and to possess such a 
quality as capacity for business is not only compatible 
with true womanliness, but is in a measure essential to 


Women and Business Habits . 


Ill 


the comfort and well-being of every properly-governed 
family. Habits of business do not relate to trade 
merely, but apply to all the practical affairs of life—to 
every thing that has to be arranged, or be organized, 
to be provided for, to be done. And in all those re¬ 
spects the management of a family and of a household; 
is as much a matter of business as the management of A ' 
a shop or of a counting-house. It requires method, 
accuracy, organization, industry, economy, discipline, 
tact, knowledge, and capacity for adapting means to 
ends. All this is of the essence of business; and hence 
business habits are as necessary to be cultivated by 
women who would succeed in the affairs of home—in 
other words, who would make home happy—as by 
men in the affairs of trade, of commerce, or of manu¬ 
facture. 

The idea has, however, heretofore prevailed, that 
women have no concern with such matters, and that 
business habits and qualifications relate to men only. 
Take, for instance, the knowledge of figures. Mr. 
Bright has said of boys, “ Teach a boy arithmetic thor¬ 
oughly, and he is a made man.” And why?—Because 
it teaches him method, accuracy, value, proportions, 
relations. But how many girls are taught arithmetic 
well ?—Very few indeed. And what is the conse¬ 
quence? When the girl becomes a wife, if she knows 
nothing of figures, and is innocent of addition and mul¬ 
tiplication, she can keep no record of income and ex¬ 
penditure, and there will probably be a succession of 
mistakes committed which may be prolific in domestic 
contention. The woman, not being up to her business 


112 Business Vitalities Requisite . 

—that is, the management of her domestic affairs in 
conformity with the simple principles of arithmetic— 
will, through sheer ignorance, be apt to commit extra- 
vagances, though unintentional, which may be most 
injurious to her family peace and comfort. 

Method, which is the soul of business, is also of essen¬ 
tial importance in the home. Work can only be got 
through by method. Method demands punctuality, 
another eminently business quality. The unpunctual 
woman, like the unpunctual man, occasions dislike, be¬ 
cause she consumes and wastes time, and provokes 
the reflection that we are not of sufficient importance 
to make her more prompt. To the business man, time 
is money; but to the business woman, method is more 
—it is peace, comfort, and domestic prosperity. 

Prudence is another important business quality in 
women, as in men. Prudence is practical wisdom, and 
comes of the cultivated judgment. It has reference in 
all things to fitness, to propriet}^; judging wisely of the 
right thing to be done, and the right way of doing it. 
It calculates the means, order, time, and method of do¬ 
ing. Prudence learns from experience, quickened by 
knowledge. 

For these, among other reasons, habits of business 
are necessary to be cultivated by all women, in order 
to their being efficient helpers in the world’s daily life 
and work. Furthermore, to direct' the power of the 
home aright, women, as the nurses, trainers, and edu¬ 
cators of children, need all the help and strength that 
mental culture can give them. 

Mere instinctive love is not sufficient. Instinct, which 


Woman's Intelligence . 113 

preserves the lower creatures, needs no training; but 
human intelligence, which is in constant request in a 
family, needs to be educated/ The physical health of 
the rising generation is intrusted to woman by Provi¬ 
dence; and it is in the physical nature that the moral 
and mental nature lies enshrined. It is only by acting 
in accordance with the natural laws, which, before she 
can follow, woman must needs understand, that the 
blessings of health of body, and health of mind and 
morals, can be secured at home. Without a knowl¬ 
edge of such laws, the mother’s love too often finds its 
recompense only in a child’s coffin. That about one- 
third of all the children born in this country die under 
five years of age, can only be attributable to ignorance 
of the natural laws, ignorance of the human constitu¬ 
tion, and ignorance of the uses of pure air, pure water, 
and of the art of preparing and administering whole¬ 
some food. There is no such mortality among the 
lower animals. 

Woman was not meant to be either an unthinking 
drudge, or the merely pretty ornament of man’s leisure. 
She exists for herself as well as for others; and the 
serious and responsible duties she is called upon to per¬ 
form in life require the cultivated head as well as the 
sympathizing heart. Her highest mission is not to be 
fulfilled by the mastery of fleeting accomplishments, on 
which so much useful time is now wasted; for, though 
accomplishments may enhance the charms of youth and 
beauty, of themselves sufficiently charming, they will 
be found of very little use in the affairs of real life. 

The highest praise which the ancient Romans could 
8 


114 


Education of Women, 


express of a noble matron was that she sat at home and 
spun. In our own time it has been said that chemistry 
enough to keep the pot boiling, and geography enough 
to know the different rooms in her house, was science 
enough for any woman; while Byron, whose sympathies 
for woman were of a very imperfect kind, professed 
that he would limit her library to a Bible and a cook¬ 
ery-book. But this view of woman’s character and 
culture is as absurdly narrow and unintelligent, on the 
one hand, as the opposite view, now so much in vogue, 
is extravagant and unnatural on the other—that woman 
ought to be educated so as to be as much as possible 
the equal of man; undistinguishable from him except 
in sex; equal to him in rights and votes; and his com¬ 
petitor in all that makes life a fierce and selfish struggle 
for place and power and money. 

Speaking generally, the training and discipline that 
are most suitable for the one sex in early life are also 
the most suitable for the other; and the education and 
culture that fill the mind of the man will prove equally 
wholesome for the woman. Indeed, all the arguments 
which have yet been advanced in favor of the higher 
education of men plead equally strongly in favor of the 
higher education of women. In all the departments of 
home, intelligence will add to woman’s usefulness and 
efficiency. It will give her thought and forethought, 
enable her to anticipate and provide for the contingen¬ 
cies of life, suggest improved methods of management, 
and give her strength in every way. In disciplined 
mental power she will find a stronger and safer protec¬ 
tion against deception and imposture than in mere inno- 


Nations and Mothers . 


115 


cent and unsuspecting ignorance; in moral and religious 
culture she will secure sources of influence more pow¬ 
erful and enduring than in physical attractions; and in 
due self-reliance and self-dependence she will discover 
the truest sources of domestic comfort and happiness. 

But while the mind and character of women ought 
to be cultivated with a view to their own well-being, 
they ought not the less to be educated liberally with a 
view to the happiness of others. Men themselves can 
not be sound in mind or morals if women be the re¬ 
verse; and if, as we hold to be the case, the moral con¬ 
dition of a people mainly depends upon the education 
of the home, then the education of women is to be 
regarded as a matter of national importance. Not only 
does the moral character but the mental strength of 
man find its best safeguard and support in the moral 
purity and mental cultivation of woman; but the more 
completely the powers of both are developed, the more 
harmonious and well-ordered will society be—the more 
safe and certain its elevation and advancement. 

When, about fifty years since, the first Napoleon 
said that the great want of France was mothers, he 
meant, in other words, that the French people needed 
the education of homes, presided over by good, virtu¬ 
ous, intelligent women. Indeed, the first French Re¬ 
volution presented one of the most striking illustrations 
of the social mischiefs resulting from a neglect of the 
purifying influence of women. When that great na¬ 
tional outbreak occurred, society was impenetrated 
with vice and profligacy. Morals, religion, virtue, 
were swamped by sensualism. The character of wo- 


116 


True Sphere of Women . 

man had become depraved. Conjugal fidelity was 
disregarded; maternity was held in reproach; family 
and home were alike corrupted. Domestic purity no 
longer bound society together. France was mother¬ 
less; the children broke loose; and the Revolution burst 
forth, “amidst the yells and the fierce violence of 
women.” 

But the terrible lesson was disregarded, and again 
and again France has grievously suffered from the want 
of that discipline, obedience, self-control and self-respect 
which can only be truly learnt at home. It is said that 
the Third Napoleon attributed the recent powerlessness 
of France, which left her helpless and bleeding at the 
feet of her conquerors, to the frivolity and lack of prin¬ 
ciple of the people, as well as to their love of pleasure, 
which, however, it must be confessed, he himself did not 
a little to foster. It would thus seem that the disci¬ 
pline which France still needs to learn, if she would be 
good and great, is that indicated by the first Napoleon 
—home education by good mothers. 

The influence of woman is the same everywhere. 
Her condition influences the morals, manners and char¬ 
acter of the people in all countries. Where she is de¬ 
based, society is debased; where she is morally pure 
and enlightened, society will be proportionately ele¬ 
vated. 

Hence, to instruct woman is to instruct man; to ele¬ 
vate her character is to raise his own; to enlarge her 
mental freedom is to extend and secure that of the 
whole community. For nations are but the outcomes 
of homes, and peoples of mothers. 


Women and Work . 


117 


But while it is certain that the character of a nation 
will be elevated by the enlightenment and refinement of 
woman, it is much more than doubtful whether any ad¬ 
vantage is to be derived from her entering into compe¬ 
tition with man in the rough work of business and poli¬ 
tics. Women can no more do men’s special work in 
the world than men can do women’s. And wherever 
woman has been withdrawn from her home and family 
to enter upon other work, the result has been socially 
disastrous. Indeed, the efforts of some of the best phi¬ 
lanthropists have of late years been devoted to with¬ 
drawing women from toiling alongside of men in coal¬ 
pits, factories, nail-shops and brick-yards. 

It is still not uncommon in the North for the hus¬ 
bands to be idle at home, while the mothers and daugh¬ 
ters are working in the factory, the result being in 
many cases, an entire subversion of family order, of do¬ 
mestic discipline, and of home rule. And for many 
years past, in Paris, that state of things has been 
reached which some women desire to effect among our¬ 
selves. The women there mainly attend to business 
while the men lounge about the boulevards. But the 
result has only been homelessness, degeneracy and fam¬ 
ily and social decay. 

Nor is there any reason to believe that the elevation 
and improvement of women are to be secured by in¬ 
vesting them with political power. There are, however, 
in these days, many believers in the potentiality of 
“ votes,” who anticipate some indefinite good from the 
u enfranchisement” of women. It is not necessary here 
to enter upon the discussion of this question. But it 


118 “ Enfranchisement ” of Women . 

may be sufficient to state that the power which women 
do not possess politically is far more than compensated 
by that which they exercise in private life—by their 
training in the home those who, whether as men or as 
women, do all the manly as well as womenly work of % 
the world. The Radical Bentham has said that man, 
even if he would, cannot keep power from woman, for 
that she already governs the world u with the whole 
power of a despot, 11 though the power that she mainly 
governs by is love; and to form the character of the 
whole human race, is certainly a power far greater 
than that which women could ever hope to exercise 
as voters for members of parliament, or even as law¬ 
makers. 

There is, however, one special department of wom¬ 
an’s work demanding the earnest attention of all true 
female reformers, though it is one which has hitherto 
been unaccountably neglected. We mean the better 
economizing and preparation of human food, the waste 
of which at present, for want of the most ordinary culi¬ 
nary knowledge, is little short of scandalous. If that 
man is to be regarded as a benefactor of his species who 
makes two stalks of corn to grow where only one grew 
before, not less is she to be regarded as a public bene¬ 
factor who economizes and turns to the best practical 
account the food-products of human skill and labor. 
The improved use of even our existing supply would be 
equivalent to an immediate extension of the cultivable 
acreage of our country—not to speak of the increase in 
health, economy and domestic comfort. Were our fe¬ 
male reformers only to turn their energies in this direc- 


Women and Food . 


119 


tion with effect, they would earn the gratitude of all 
households, and be esteemed as among the greatest of * 
all practical philanthropists. 


i 



CHAPTER V. 





COMPANIONSHIP AND EXAMPLE. 

" Keep good company, and you shall be of the number.’’— George Her, 

BERT. 

HE natural education of the home is prolonged 
far into life—indeed, it never entirely ceases. 
But the time arrives, in the progress of years, 
when the home ceases to exercise an exclusive 
influence on the formation of character, and it is suc¬ 
ceeded by the more artificial education of the school, 
and the companionship of friends and comrades, which 
continue to mould the character by the powerful influ¬ 
ence of example. 

Men, young and old—but the young more than the 
old—cannot help imitating those with whom they as¬ 
sociate. It was a saying of George Herbert’s mother, 
intended for the guidance of her sons, “ that as our 
bodies take a nourishment suitable to the meat on which 
we feed, so do our souls as insensibly take in virtue or 
vice by the example or conversation of good or bad 
company. 1 ’ 

Indeed, it is impossible that association with those 
about us should not produce a powerful influence in the 
formation of character. For men are by nature imitat- 






121 


Influence of Compan ionsh if>. 

ors, and all persons are more or less impressed by the 
speech, the manners, the gait, the gestures, and the 
very habits of thinking of their companions. “ Is ex¬ 
ample nothing?” said Burke. “ It is everything. Ex¬ 
ample is the school of mankind, and they will learn at 
no other.” Burke’s grand motto, which he wrote for 
the tablet of the Marquis of Rockingham, is worth re¬ 
peating. It was, “ Remember, resemble, persevere.” 

Imitation is for the most part so unconscious that its 
effects are almost unheeded, but its influence is not the 
less permanent on that account. It is only when an im¬ 
pressive nature is placed in contact with an impression¬ 
able one that the alteration in the character becomes 
recognizable. Yet even the weakest natures exercise 
some influence upon those about them. The approxi¬ 
mation of feeling, thought and habit is constant, and the 
action of example unceasing. 

Emerson has observed that even old couples, or per¬ 
sons who have been house-mates for a course of years, 
grow gradually like each other; so that, if they were 
to live long enough, we should scarcely be able to know 
them apart. But if this be true of the old, how much 
more true is it of the young, whose plastic natures are 
so much more soft and impressionable, and ready to 
take the stamp of the life and conversation of those 
about them! 

“ There has been,” observed Sir Charles Bell in one 
of his letters, “ a good deal said about education, but 
they appear to me to put out of sight excirnfle, which 
is all-in-all. My best education was the example set me 
by my brothers. There was, in all the members of the 


122 


The Force of Imitation . 

family, a reliance on self, a true independence, and by 
imitation I obtained it.” 

It is in the nature of things that the circumstances 
which contribute to form the character should exercise 
their principal influence during the period of growth. 
As years advance, example and imitation become cus¬ 
tom, and gradually consolidate into habit, which is of 
so much potency that, almost before we know it, we 
have in a measure yielded up to it our personal free¬ 
dom. 

It is related of Plato, that on one occasion he re¬ 
proved a boy for playing at some foolish game. “Thou 
reprovest me,” said the boy, “ for a very little thing.” 
“ But custom,” replied Plato, “ is not a little thing.” 
Bad custom, consolidated into habit, is such a tyrant 
that men sometimes cling to vices even while they curse 
them. They have become the slaves of habits whose 
power they are impotent to resist. Hence Locke has 
said that to create and maintain that vigor of mind 
which is able to contest the empire of habit may be re¬ 
garded as one of the chief ends of moral discipline. 

Though much of the education of character by ex¬ 
ample is spontaneous and unconscious, the young need 
not necessarily be the passive followers or imitators of 
those about them. Their own conduct, far more than 
the conduct of their companions, tends to fix the pur¬ 
pose and form the principles of their life. Each pos¬ 
sesses in himself a power of will and of free activity, 
which, if courageously exercised, will enable him to 
make his own individual selection of friends and asso¬ 
ciates. It is only through weakness of purpose that 


123 


Companionship of the Good . 

young people as well as old, become the slaves of their 
inclinations, or give themselves up to a servile imitation 
of others. 

It is a common saying that men are known by the 
company they keep. The sober do not naturally asso¬ 
ciate with the drunken, the refined with the coarse, the 
decent with the dissolute. To associate with depraved 
persons argues a low taste and vicious tendencies, and 
to frequent their society leads to inevitable degrada¬ 
tion of character. “ The conversation of such per¬ 
sons,” says Seneca, “ is very injurious, for even if it 
does not immediate harm, it leaves its seeds in the 
mind, and follows us when we have gone from the 
speakers—a plague sure to spring up in future resur¬ 
rection.” 

If young men are wisely influenced and directed, and 
conscientiously exert their own free energies, they will 
seek the society of those better than themselves, and 
strive to imitate their example. In companionship 
with the good, growing natures will always find their 
best nourishment, while companiouship with the bad 
will only be fruitful in mischief. There are persons 
whom to know is to love, honor and admire, and others 
whom to know is to shun and despise. Live with per¬ 
sons of elevated characters, and you will feel lifted and 
lighted up in them. “Live with wolves,” says the 
Spanish proverb, “ and you will learn to howl.” 

Intercourse with even commonplace, selfish persons, 
may prove most injurious, by inducing a dry, dull, re¬ 
served and selfish condition of mind, more or less inim¬ 
ical to true manliness and breadth of character. The 


124 The Uses of Association . 

mind soon learns to run in small grooves, the heart 
grows narrow and contracted, and the moral nature be¬ 
comes weak, irresolute and accommodating, which is 
fatal to all generous ambition or real excellence. 

On the other hand, associations with persons wiser, 
better and more experienced than ourselves, is always 
more or less inspiring and invigorating. They enchance 
our own knowledge of life. We correct our estimates 
by theirs, and become partners in their wisdom. We 
enlarge our field of observation through their eyes, pro¬ 
fit by their experience, and learn not only from what 
they have enjoyed, but—which is still more instructive 
—from what they have suffered. If they are stronger 
than ourselves, we become participators in their strength. 
Hence companionship with the wise and energetic never 
fails to have a most valuable influence on the formation 
of character, increasing our resources, strengthening 
our resolves, elevating our aims, and enabling us to ex¬ 
ercise greater dexterity and ability in our own affairs, 
as well as more effective helpfulness of others. 

“ I have often deeply regretted in myself,” says Mrs. 
Schimmelpenninck, “ the great loss I have experienced 
from the solitude of my early habits. We need no 
worse companion than our unregenerate selves, and, by 
living alone, a person not only becomes wholly ignorant 
of the means of helping his fellow-creatures, but is 
without the perception of those wants which most need 
help. Association with others, when not on so large a 
scale as to make hours of retirement impossible, may 
be considered as furnishing to an individual a rich mul¬ 
tiplied experience; and sympathy so drawn forth, 


125 


Boyhood of Henry Mar/yn . 

though, unlike charity, it begins abroad, never fails to 
bring rich treasures home. Association with others is 
useful also in strengthening the character, and in en¬ 
abling us, while we never lose sight of our main object, 
to thread our way wisely and well.” 

An entirely new direction may be given to the life of 
a young man by a happy suggestion, a timely hint, or 
the kindly advice of an honest friend. Thus the life 
of Henry Martyn, the Indian missionary, seems to have 
been singularly influenced by a friendship which he 
formed, when a boy, at Truro Grammar School. Mar¬ 
tyn himself was of feeble frame, and of a delicate, nerv¬ 
ous temperament. Wanting in animal spirits, he took 
but little pleasure in school sports; and being of a 
somewhat petulant temper, the bigger boys took pleas¬ 
ure in provoking him, and some of them in bullying 
him. One of the bigger boys, however, conceiving a 
friendship for Martyn, took him under his protection, 
stood between him and his persecutors, and not only 
fought his battles for him, but helped him with his les¬ 
sons. Though Martyn was rather a backward pupil, 
his father was desirous that he should have the advant¬ 
age of a college education, and at the age of about 
fifteen he sent him to Oxford to try for a Corpus 
scholarship, in which he failed. He remained for two 
years more at the Truro Grammar School, and then 
went to Cambridge, where he was entered at St. John’s 
College. Whom should he find already settled there 
as a student but his old champion of the Truro Gram¬ 
mar School? Their friendship was renewed; and the 
elder student from that time forward acted as the Men- 


126 


Dr. Pa ley's College Life. 

tor of the younger one. Martyn was fitful in his 
studies, excitable and petulant, and occasionally subject 
to fits of almost uncontrollable rage. His big friend, 
on the other hand, was a steady, patient, hard-working 
fellow; and he never ceased to watch over, to guide, 
and to advise for good his irritable fellow-student. He 
kept Martyn out of the way of evil company, advised 
him to work hard, “ not for the praise of men, but for 
the glory of God; and so successfully assisted him in 
his studies, that at the following Christmas examination 
he was the first of his year. Yet Martyn’s kind friend 
and Mentor never achieved any distinction himself; he 
passed away into obscurity, leading, most probably, a 
useful though an unknown career; his greatest wish in 
life having been to shape the character of his friend, to 
inspire his soul with the love of truth, and to prepare 
him for the noble work, on which he shortly after en¬ 
tered, of an Indian missionary. 

A somewhat similar incident is said to have occurred 
in the college career of Dr. Paley. When a student at 
Christ’s College, Cambridge, he was distinguished for 
his shrewdness as well as his clumsiness, and he was at 
the same time the favorite and the butt of his compan¬ 
ions. Though his natural abilities were great, he was 
thoughtless, idle, and a spendthrift; and at the com¬ 
mencement of his third year he had made compara¬ 
tively little progress. After one of his usual night-dis¬ 
sipations, a .friend stood by his bedside on the following 
morning. “ Paley,” said he, “ I have not been able to 
sleep for thinking about you. I have been thinking 
what a fool you are! /have the means of dissipation, 


127 


Dr . A mold an Exemplar. 

and can afford to be idle; you are poor, and can not 
afford it. / could do nothing, probably, even were I to 
try: you are capable of doing any thing. I have lain 
awake all night thinking about your folly, and I have 
now come solemnly to warn you. Indeed, if you per¬ 
sist in your indolence, and go on in this way, I must 
renounce your society altogether.” 

It is said that Paley was so powerfully affected by 
this admonition, that from that moment he became an 
altered man. He formed an entirely new plan of life, 
and diligently persevered in it. He became one of the 
most industrious of students. One by one he distanced 
his competitors, and at the end of the year he came out 
senior, wrangler. What he afterwards accomplished as 
an author and a divine is sufficiently well known. 

No one recognized more fully the influence of per¬ 
sonal example on the young than did Dr. Arnold. It 
was the great lever with which he worked in striving 
to elevate the character of his school. He made it his 
principal object, first to put a right spirit into the lead¬ 
ing boys by attracting their good and noble feelings; 
and then to make them instrumental in propagating the 
same spirit among the rest, by the influence of imita¬ 
tion, example, and admiration. He endeavored to 
make all feel that they were fellow-workers with him¬ 
self, and sharers with him in the moral responsibility 
for the good government of the place. One of the first 
effects of this high-minded system of management was, 
that it inspired the boys with strength and self respect. 
They felt that they were trusted. There were, of 
course, wayward pupils at Rugby, as there are at all 


128 Dugald Stewart. 

schools; and these it was the master’s duty to watch, to 
prevent their bad example contaminating others. On 
one occasion, he said to an assistant-master: “Do you 
see those two boys walking together? I never saw 
them together before. You should make an especial 
point of observing the company they keep: nothing so 
tells the changes in a boy’s character.” 

Dr. Arnold’s own example was an inspiration, as is 
that of every great teacher. In his presence, young 
men learned to respect themselves, and out of the root 
of self-respect there grew up the manly virtues. “ His 
very presence,” says his biographer, “ seemed to create 
a new spring of health and vigor within them, and to 
give to life an interest and elevation which remained 
with them long after they had left him; and dwelt so 
habitually in their thoughts as a living image, that, 
when death had taken him away, the bond appeared to 
be still unbroken, and the sense of separation almost 
lost in the still deeper sense of a life and a union inde¬ 
structible.” And thus it was that Dr. Arnold trained 
a host of manly and noble characters, who spread the 
influence of his example in all parts of the world. 

So also was it said of Dugald Stewart, that he 
breathed the love of virtue into whole congregations of 
pupils. “ To me,” says the late Lord Cockburn, “ his 
lectures were like the opening of the heavens. I felt 
that I had a soul. His noble views, unfolded in glori¬ 
ous sentences, elevated me into a higher world. * * 

They changed my whole nature.” 

Character tells in all conditions of life. The man of 
good character in a workshop will give the tone to his 


Power of Goodness . 


129 


fellows, and elevate their entire aspirations. Thus 
Franklin, while a workman in London, is said to have 
reformed the manners of an entire workshop. So the 
man of bad character and debased energy will uncon¬ 
sciously lower and degrade his fellows. Captain John 
Brown, the “ marching-on Brown,” once said to Emer¬ 
son, that “ for a settler in a new country, one good be¬ 
lieving man is worth a hundred, nay, worth a thousand 
men without character.” His example is so contagious 
that all other men are directly and beneficially influ¬ 
enced by him, and he insensibly elevates and lifts them 
up to his own standard of energetic activity. 

Communication with the good is invariably product¬ 
ive of good. The good character is difusive in his in¬ 
fluence. “ I was common clay till roses were planted 
in me,” says some aromatic earth in the Eastern fable. 
Like begets like, and good makes good. “ It is aston¬ 
ishing,” says Canon Moseley, “ how much good good¬ 
ness makes. Nothing that is good is alone, nor any¬ 
thing bad; it makes others good or others bad—and 
that other, and so on, like a stone thrown into a pond, 
which makes circles that make other wider ones, and 
then others, till the last reaches the shore. * * * 

Almost all the good that is in the world has, I suppose, 
thus come down to us traditionall} r from remote times, 
and often unknown centres of good.” So Mr. Rus- 
kin says, “ that which is born of evil begets evil; and 
that which is born of valor and honor teaches valor and 
honor.” 

Hence it is that the life of every man is a daily incul¬ 
cation of good or bad example to others. The life of a 
9 


130 


High Standard of Life . 

good man is at the same time the most eloquent lesson 
of virtue and the most severe reproof of vice. Dr. 
Hooker describes the life of a pious clergyman of his 
acquaintance as “ visible rhetoric,” convincing even the 
most godless of the beauty of goodness. And so the 
good George Herbert said, on entering upon the duties 
of his parish: “ Above all I will be sure to live well, be¬ 
cause the virtuous life of a clergyman is the most pow¬ 
erful eloquence, to persuade all who see it to reverence 
and love, and at least to desire to live like him. And 
this I will do,” he added, “ because 1 know we live in 
an age that hath more need of good examples than pre¬ 
cepts.” It was a fine saying of the same good priest r 
when reproached with doing an act of kindness to a 
poor man considered beneath the dignity of his office 
—that the thought of such actions u would prove music 
to him at midnight.” Izaak Walton speaks of a letter- 
written by George Herbert to Bishop Andrews about a 
holy life, which the latter “ put into his bosom,” and, 
after showing it to his scholars, “ did always return it 
to the place where he first lodged it, and continued it 
so, near his heart, till the last day of his life.” 

Great is the power of goodness to charm and to com¬ 
mand. The man inspired by it is the true kind of man, 
drawing all hearts after him. When General Nichol¬ 
son lay wounded on his death-bed before Delhi, he dic¬ 
tated this last message to his equally noble and gallant 
friend, Sir Herbert Edwards: “ Tell him,” said he, “ I 
should have been a better man if I had continued to live 
with him, and our heavy public duties had not prevented 
my seeing more of him privately. I was always the 


131 


The Inspiration of Goodness . 

better for a residence with him and his wife, however 
short. Give my love to them both.” 

There are men in whose presence we feel as if we 
breathed a spiritual ozone, refreshing and invigorating, 
like inhaling mountain air, or enjoying a bath of sun¬ 
shine. The power of Sir Thomas More’s gentle nature 
was so great that it subdued the bad at the same time 
that it inspired the good. Lord Brooke said of his de¬ 
ceased friend, Sir Philip Sidney, that “ his wit and un¬ 
derstanding beat upon his heart, to make himself and 
others, not in word or opinion, but in life and action, 
good and great.” 

The very sight of a great and good man is often an 
inspiration to the young, who cannot help admiring and 
loving the gentle, the brave, the truthful, the magnani¬ 
mous! Chateaubriand saw Washington only once, but 
it inspired him for life. After describing the interview, 
he says: “ Washington sank into the tomb before any 
little celebrity had attached to my name. I passed be¬ 
fore him as the most unknown of beings. He was in 
all his glory—I in the depth of my obscurity. My 
name probably dwelt not a whole day in his memory. 
Happ}', however, was I that his looks were cast upon 
me. I have felt warmed for it all the rest of my life. 
There is a virtue even in the looks of a great man.” 

When Niebuhr died, his friend, Frederick Perthes, 
said of him: “What a contemporary! The terror of 
all bad and base men, the stay of all the sterling and 
honest, the friend and helper of youth.” Perthes said 
on another occasion: “ It does a wrestling man good to 
be constantly surrounded by tried wrestlers; evil 


132 


Admiration of the Good. 

thoughts are put to flight when the eye falls on the 
portrait of one in whose living presence one would have 
blushed to own them.” A Catholic money-lender, when 
about to cheat, was wont to draw a veil over the pic¬ 
ture of his favorite saint. So Hazlitt has said of the 
portrait of a beautiful female, that it seemed as if an un¬ 
handsome action would be impossible in its presence. 
“ It does one good to look upon his manly, honest face,” 
said a poor German woman, pointing to a portrait of 
the great reformer hung upon the wall of her humble 
dwelling. 

Even the portrait of a noble or a good man, hung up 
in a room, is companionship after a sort. It gives us a 
closer personal interest in him. Looking at the features, 
we feel as if we knew him better,*and were more nearly 
related to him. It is a link that connects us with a 
higher and better nature than our own. And though 
we may be far from reaching the standard of our hero, 
we are, to a certain extent, sustained and fortified by his 
depicted presence constantly before us. 

Fox was proud to acknowledge how much he owed 
to the example and conversation of Burke. On one oc¬ 
casion he said of him, that “ if he was to put all the po¬ 
litical information he had gained from books, all that he 
had learned from science, or that the knowledge of the 
world and its affairs taught him, into one scale, and the 
improvement he had derived from Mr. Burke’s conver¬ 
sation and instruction into the other, the latter would 
preponderate.” 

Professor Tyndall speaks of Faraday’s friendship as 
u energy and inspiration.” After spending an evening 


Influence of Gentle Natures . 133 

with him, he wrote: “ His work excites admiration, 
but contact with him warms and elevates the heart. 
Here, surely, is a strong man. I love strength, but 
. let me not forget the example of its union with mod¬ 
esty, tenderness, and sweetness, in the character of 
Faraday.” 

Even the gentlest natures are powerful to influence 
the character of others for good. Thus Wordsworth 
seems to have been especially impressed by the charac¬ 
ter of his sister Dorothy, who exercised upon his mind 
and heart a lasting influence. He describes her as the 
blessing of his boyhood as well as of his manhood. 
Though two years younger than himself, her tender¬ 
ness and sweetness contributed greatly to mould his na¬ 
ture, and open his mind to the influences of poetry: 

“ She gave me eyes, she gave me ears, 

And humble cares, and delicate fears ; 

A heart, the fountain of sweet tears, 

And love, and thought, and joy.” 

Thus the gentlest natures are enabled, by the power of 
affection and intelligence, to mould the characters of 
men destined to influence and elevate their race through 
all time. 

Sir William Napier attributed the early direction of 
his character first to the impress made upon it by his 
mother, when a boy, and afterwards to the noble exam¬ 
ple of his commander, Sir John Moore, when a man. 
Moore early detected the qualities of the young officer; 
and he was one of those to whom the general addressed 
the encouragement, “Well done, my majors!” at Co¬ 
runna. Writing home to his mother, and describing 


134 


Energy Evokes Energy . 

the little court by which Moore was surrounded, he 
wrote, “Where shall we find such a king?” It was to 
his personal affection for his chief that the world is 
mainly indebted to Sir William Napier for his great# 
book, “ The History of the Peninsular War.” But he 
was stimulated to write the book by the advice of an¬ 
other friend, the late Lord Langdale, while one day 
walking with him across the fields on which Belgravia 
is now built. “ It was Lord Langdale,” he says, “ who 
first kindled the fire within me.” And of Sir William 
Napier himself, his biographer truly says, that “ no 
thinking person could ever come in contact with him, 
without being strongly impressed with the genius of 
the man.” 

The career of the late Dr. Marshall Hall was a life¬ 
long illustration of the influence of character in forming 
character. Many eminent men still living trace their 
success in life to his suggestions and assistance, without 
which several valuable lines of study and investigation 
might not have been entered on, at least at so early a 
period. He would say to young men about him, “ Take 
up a subject and pursue it well, and you can not fail to 
succeed.” And often he would throw out a new idea 
to a young friend, saying, u I make you a present of it; 
there is fortune in it, if you pursue it with energy.” 

Energy of character has always a power to evoke 
energy in others. It acts through sympathy, one of the 
most influential of human agencies. The zealous, ener¬ 
getic man unconsciously carries others along with him. 
His example is contagious, and compels imitation. He 
exercises a sort of electric power, which sends a thrill 


Inspiration of Great Men. 


135 


through every fibre, flows into the nature of those 
about him, and makes them give out sparks of fire. 

Dr. Arnold’s biographer, speaking of the power of 
this kind exercised by him over young men, says: “ It 
was not so much an enthusiastic admiration for true 
genius, or learning, or eloquence, which stirred within 
them; it was a sympathetic thrill, caught from a spirit 
that was earnestly at work in the world—whose work 
was healthy, sustained, and constantly carried forward 
in the fear of God—a work that was founded on a deep 
sense of its duty and its value.” 

Such a power, exercised by men of genius, evokes 
courage, enthusiasm, and devotion. It is this intense 
admiration for individuals—such as one can not con¬ 
ceive entertained for a multitude—which has in all 
times produced heroes and martyrs. It is thus that 
the mastery of character makes itself felt, it acts by 
inspiration, quickening and vivifying the natures sub¬ 
ject to its influence. 

Great minds are rich in radiating force, not only ex¬ 
erting power, but communicating and even creating it. 
Thus Dante raised and drew after him a host of great 
spirits—Petrarch, Boccacio, Tasso, and many more. 
From him Milton learned to bear the stings of evil 
tongues and the contumely of evil days; and long 
years after, Byron, thinking of Dante under the pine- 
trees of Ravenna, was incited to attune his harp to 
loftier strains than he had ever attempted before. 
Dante inspired the greatest painters of Italy—Giotto, 
Orcagna, Michael Angelo, and Raphael. So Ariosto 


136 


Admire Nobly . 


and Titian mutually inspired one another, and lighted 
up each other’s glory. 

Great and good men draw others after them, excit¬ 
ing the spontaneous admiration of mankind. This ad¬ 
miration of noble character elevates the mind, and 
tends to redeem it from the bondage of self, one of the 
greatest stumbling-blocks to moral improvement. The 
recollection of men who have signalized themselves by 
great thoughts or great deeds seems as if to create 
for the time a purer atmosphere around us, and we 
feel as if our aims and purposes were unconsciously 
elevated. 

“ Tell me whom you admire,” said Sainte-Beuve, 
“ and I will tell you what you are, at least as regards 
your talents, tastes and character.” Do you admire 
mean men?—your own nature is mean. Do you ad¬ 
mire rich men?—you are of the earth, earthy. Do you 
admire men of title?—you are a toad-eater, or a tuft- 
hunter. Do you admire honest, brave and manly 
men?—you are yourself of an honest, brave and manly 
spirit. 

It was a fine trait in the character of Prince Albert 
that he was always so ready to express generous admi¬ 
ration of the good deeds of others. “He had the great¬ 
est delight,” says the ablest delineater of his character, 
“ m anybody else saying a fine saying, or doing a great 
deed. He would rejoice over it, and talk about it for 
days, and whether it was a thing nobly said or done by 
a little child, or by a veteran statesman, it gave him 
equal pleasure. He delighted in humanity doing well 
on any occasion and in any manner.” 


yohnson and Boswell. 


137 


u No quality,” said Dr. Johnson, “will get a man 
more friends than a sincere admiration of the qualities 
of others. It indicates generosity of nature, frankness, 
cordiality and cheerful recognition of merit.” It was 
to the sincere—it might almost be said the reverential 
—admiration of Johnson by Boswell, that we owe one 
of the best biographies ever written. One is disposed 
to think that there must have been some genuine good 
qualities in Boswell to have been attracted by such a 
man as Johnson, and to have kept faithful to his wor¬ 
ship .in spite of rebuffs and snubbings innumerable. 
Macaulay speaks of Boswell as an altogether contempt¬ 
ible person—as a coxcomb and a bore—weak, vain, 
pushing, curious, garrulous, and without wit, humor, or 
eloquence. But Carlyle is doubtless more just in his 
characterization of the biographer, in whom—vain and 
foolish though he was in many respects—he sees a man 
penetrated by the old reverent feeling of discipleship, 
full of love and admiration for true wisdom and excel¬ 
lence. Without such qualities, Carlyle insists, the 
“ Life of Johnson” never could have been written. 
“ Boswell wrote a good book,” he says, “ because he 
had a heart and an eye to discern wisdom, and an ut¬ 
terance to render it forth, because of his free insight, 
his lively talent, and, above all, of his love and child¬ 
like open-mindedness. 

Most young men of generous mind have their heroes, 
especially if they be book-readers. Thus Allen Cun¬ 
ningham, when a mason’s apprentice in Nithsdale, 
walked all the way to Edinburgh for the sole purpose 
of seeing Sir Walter Scott as he passed along the street. 


138 


Young Men's Heroes . 

AVe unconsciously admire the enthusiasm of the lad, 
and respect the impulse which impelled him to make 
the journey. It is related of Sir Joshua Reynolds, that, 
when a boy of ten, he thrust his hand through interven¬ 
ing rows of people to touch Pope, as it there were a 
sort of virtue in the contact. At a much later period, 
the painter Haydon was proud to see and to touch Rey¬ 
nolds when on a visit to his native place. Rogers, the 
poet, used to tell of his ardent desire, when a boy, to 
see Dr. Johnson, but when his hand was on the knocker 
of the house in Bolt Court, his courage failed him, and 
he turned away. So the late Isaac Disraeli, when a 
youth, called at Bolt Court for the same purpose, and 
though he had the courage to knock, to his dismay he 
was informed by the servant that the great lexico¬ 
grapher had breathed his last only a few hours be¬ 
fore. 

On the contrary, small and ungenerous minds cannot 
admire heartily. To their own great misfortune, they 
cannot recognize, much less reverence, great men and 
great things. The mean nature admires meanly. The 
toad’s highest idea of beauty is his toadess. The small 
snob’s highest idea of manhood is the great snob. The 
slave dealer values a man according to his muscles. 
When a Guinea trader was told by Sir Godfrey Knel- 
ler, in the presence of Pope, that he saw before him 
two of the greatest men in the world, he replied: “I 
don’t know how great you may be, but I don’t like 
your looks. I have often bought a man much better 
than both of you together, all bones and muscles, for 
ten guineas!” 


139 


The Envy of Small Minds . 

Although Rochefoucauld, in one of his maxims, says 
that there is something that is not altogether disagree¬ 
able to us in the misfortunes of even our best friends, 
it is only the small and essentially mean nature that 
finds pleasure in the disappointment, and annoyance at 
the success of others. There are, unhappily for them¬ 
selves, persons so constituted that they have not the 
heart to be generous. The most disagreeable of all 
people are those who “ sit in the seat of the scorner.” 
Persons of this sort often come to regard the success of 
others, even in a good work, as a kind of personal of¬ 
fense. They cannot bear to hear another praised, es¬ 
pecially if he belong to their own art, or calling, or pro¬ 
fession. They will pardon a man’s failures, but cannot 
forgive his doing a thing better than they can do. And 
where they have themselves failed, they are found to be 
the most merciless of detractors. 

The mean mind occupies itself with sneering, carp¬ 
ing and fault-finding, and is ready to scoff at everything 
but impudent affrontery or successful vice. The great¬ 
est consolation of such persons are the defects of men 
of character. “ If the wise erred not,” says George 
Herbert, “ it would go hard with fools.” Yet, though 
wise men may learn of fools by avoiding their errors, 
fools rarely profit by the example which wise men set 
them. A German writer has said that it is a miserable 
temper that cares only to discover the blemishes in the 
character of great men or great periods. Let us rather 
judge them with the charity of Bolingbroke, who, when 
reminded of one of the alleged weaknesses of Marlbor- 


140 


A dmircition and Imitation . 


ough, observed, u he was so great a man that I forgot 
he had that defect.” 

Admiration of great men, living or dead, naturally 
evokes imitation of them in a greater or less degree. 
While a mere youth, the mind of Themistocles was 
fired by the great deeds of his contemporaries, and he 
longed to distinguish himself in the service of his coun¬ 
try. When the battle of Marathon had been fought, 
he fell into a state of melancholy; and when asked by 
his friends as to the cause, he replied “ that the trophies 
of Miltiades would not suffer him to sleep.” A few 
years later, we find him at the head of the Athenian 
army, defeating the Persian fleet of Xerxes in the bat¬ 
tles of Artemisium and Salamis—his country greatfully 
acknowledging that it had been saved through his wis¬ 
dom and valor. 

It is related of Thucydides that, when a boy, he burst 
into tears on hearing Herodotus read his history, and 
the impression made upon his mind was such as to de¬ 
termine the bent of his own genius. And Demosthenes 
was so fired on one occasion by the eloquence of Callis- 
tratus, that the ambition was roused within him of be¬ 
coming an orater himself. Yet Demosthenes was phy¬ 
sically weak, had a feeble voice, indistinct articulation, 
and shortness of breath—defects which he was only en¬ 
abled to overcome by diligent study and invincible de¬ 
termination. But with all his practice, he never be¬ 
came a ready speaker; all his orations, especially the 
most famous of them, exhibiting indications of careful 
elaboration—the art and industry of the orator being 
visible in almost every sentence. 


141 


Haydn and Porpora. 

Similar illustrations of character imitating character, 
and moulding itself by the style and manner and genius 
of great men, are to be found prevading all history. 
Warriors, statesmen, orators, patriots, poets and artists 
—all have been, more or less unconsciously, nurtured by 
the lives and actions of others living before them or 
presented for their imitation. 

Great men have evoked the admiration of kings, 
popes and emperors. Francis de Medicis never spoke 
to Michael Angelo without uncovering, and Julius III. 
made him sit by his side while a dozen cardinals were 
standing. Charles V. made way for Titian, and one 
day, when the brush dropped from the painter’s hand, 
Charles stooped and picked it up, saying, “ you deserve 
to be served by an emperor.” Leo X. threatened with 
excommunication whoever should print and sell the 
poems of Ariosto without the author’s consent. The 
same pope attended the death-bed of Raphael, as Fran¬ 
cis I. did that of Leonardo da Vinci. 

Though Haydn once archly observed that he was 
loved and esteemed by everybody except professors of 
music, yet all the greatest musicians were unusually 
ready to recognize each other’s greatness. Haydn him¬ 
self seems to have been entirely free from petty jeal¬ 
ousy. His admiration of the famous Porpora was such 
that he resolved to gain admission to his house and 
serve him as a valet. Having made the acquaintance 
of the family with whom Porpora lived, he was allowed 
to officiate in that capacity. Early each morning he 
took care to brush the veteran’s coat, polish his shoes, 
and put his rusty wig in order. At first Porpora 


142 


The Great Musicians. 


growled at the intruder, but his asperity soon softened, 
and eventually melted into affection. He quickly dis¬ 
covered his valet’s genius, and, by his instructions, di¬ 
rected it into the line in which Haydn eventually ac¬ 
quired so much distinction. 

Haydn himself was enthusiastic in his admiration of 
Handel. u He is the father of us all,” he said on one 
occasion. Scarlatti followed Handel ‘ in admiration all 
over Italy, and, when his name was mentioned, he 
crossed himself in token of veneration. Mozart’s re¬ 
cognition of the great composer was not less hearty. 
“ When he chooses,” said he, “ Handel strikes like the 
thunderbolt.” Beethoven hailed him as “ the monarch 
of the musical kingdom.” When Beethoven was dy¬ 
ing, one of his friends sent him a present of Handel’s 
works, in forty volumes. They were brought into his 
chamber, and, gazing on them with reanimated eye, he 
exclaimed, pointing at them with his finger, “ There— 
there is the truth! ” 

Haydn not only recognized the genius of the great 
men who had passed away, but of his young contem¬ 
poraries, Mozart and Beethoven. Small men may be 
envious of their fellows, but really great men seek out 
and love each other. Of Mozart, Haydn wrote: “I 
only wish I could impress on every friend of music, and 
on great men in particular, the same depth of musical 
sympathy, and profound appreciation of Mozart’s inim¬ 
itable music, that I myself feel and enjoy; then nations 
would vie with each other to possess such a jewel within 
their frontiers. Prague ought not only to strive to re¬ 
tain this precious man, but also to remunerate him; for 


Masters and Disciples. 143 

without this the history of a great genius is sad indeed. 

* * * It enrages me to think that the unparalleled 

Mozart is not yet engaged by some imperial or royal 
court. Forgive my excitement; but I love the man so 
dearly! ” 

Mozart was equally generous in his recognition of ; 
the merits of Haydn. 11 Sir,” said he to a critic, speak-^ 
ing of the latter, “ if you and I were both melted 
down together, we should not furnish materials for one 
Haydn.” And when Mozart first heard Beethoven, he 
observed: “ Listen to that young man; be assured that 
he will yet make a great name in the world.” 

Buffon set Newton above all other philosophers, and 
admired him so highly that he had always his portrait 
before him while he sat at work. So Schiller looked 
up to Shakspeare, whom he studied reverently and 
zealously for years, until he became capable of com¬ 
prehending nature at first hand, and then his admiration 
became even more ardent than before. 

Pitt was Canning’s master and hero, whom he fol¬ 
lowed and admired with attachment and devotion. 
u To one man, while he lived,” said Canning, “I was 
devoted with all my heart and all my soul. Since the 
death of Mr. Pitt I acknowledge no leader; my politi¬ 
cal allegiance lies buried in his grave.” 

The first acquaintance with a great work of art has 
usually proved an important event in every young art¬ 
ist’s life. When Correggio first gazed on Raphael’s 
“ Saint Cecilia,” he felt within himself an awakened 
power, and exclaimed, “ And I too am a painter! ” So 


144 Endurance of Good Example. 

Constable used to look back on his first sight of Claude’s 
picture of u Hagar,” as forming an epoch in his career. 
Sir George Beaumont’s admiration of the same picture 
was such that he always took it with him in his car¬ 
riage when he traveled from home. 

The example set by the great and good do not die; 
they continue to live and speak to all the generations 
that succeed them. It was very impressively observed 
by Mr. Disraeli, in the House of Commons, shortly af¬ 
ter the death of Mr. Cobden: 

“ There is this consolation remaining to us, when we 
remember our unequalled and irreparable losses, that 
those great men are not altogether lost to us—that their 
words will often be quoted in this house, that their 
examples will often be referred to and appealed to, and 
that even their expressions will form part of our discus¬ 
sions and debates. There are now, I may say, some 
members of Parliament who, though they may not be 
present, are still members of this House—who are in¬ 
dependent of dissolutions, of the caprices of constituen¬ 
cies, and even of the course of time. I think that Mr. 
Cobden was one of those men.” 

It is the great lesson of biography to teach what man 
can be and can do at his best. It may thus give each 
man renewed strength and confidence. The humblest, 
in sight of even the greatest, may admire, and hope, 
and take courage. These great brothers of ours in 
blood and lineage, who live a universal life, still speak 
to us from their graves, and beckon us on in the paths 
which they have trod. Their example is still with us, 


Consolation of a Well-spent Life . 145 

to guide, to influence and to directus. For nobility of 
character is a perpetual bequest, living from age to age, 
and constantly tending to reproduce its like. 

“ The sage,” say the Chinese, “ is the instructor of a 
hundred ages. When the manners of Loo are heard of, 
the stupid become intelligent, and the wavering deter¬ 
mined.” Thus the acted life of a good man continues 
to be a gospel of freedom and emancipation to all who 
succeed him: 

“ To live in hearts we leave behind, 

Is not to die.” 

The golden words that good men have uttered, the 
examples they have set, live through all time; they 
pass into the thoughts and hearts of their successors, 
help them on the road of life, and often console them in 
the hour of death. “ And the most miserable or most 
painful of deaths,” said Henry Marten, the Common¬ 
wealth man, who died in prison, “ is as nothing com¬ 
pared with the memory of a well-spent life, and great 
alone is he who has earned the glorious privilege of 
bequeathing such a lesson and example to his succes¬ 
sors!” 



io 


CHAPTER VI. 


WORK. 

“ Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, 
each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered, for they are gone 
forever.”— Horace Mann. 

“ Let every man be occupied, and occupied in the highest employment of 
which his nature is capable, and die with the consciousness that he has done 
his best.”— Sydney Smith. 



ORK is one of the best educators of practical 
character. It evokes and disciplines obedi¬ 
ence, self-control, attention, application, and 
perseverance; giving a man deftness and skill 
in his special calling, and aptitude and dexterity in deal¬ 
ing with the affairs of ordinary life. 

Work is the law of our being—the living principle 
that carries men and nations onward. The greater 
number of men have to work with their hands, as a 
matter of necessity, in order to live, but all must work 
in one way or another, if they would enjoy life as it 
ought to be enjoyed. 

Labor may be a burden and a chastisement, but it is 
also an honor and a glory. Without it nothing can be 
accomplished. All that is great in man comes through 
work, and civilization is its product. Were labor abol¬ 
ished, the race of Adam would be at once stricken by 
moral death. 





Pliny on Rural Labor . 147 

It is idleness that is the curse of man, not labor. Idle¬ 
ness eats the heart out of men as of nations, and con¬ 
sumes them as rust does iron. 

In describing the earlier social condition of Italy, 
when the ordinary occupations of rural life were con¬ 
sidered compatible with the highest civic dignity, Pliny 
speaks of the triumphant generals and their men return¬ 
ing contentedly to the plough. In those days the lands 
were tilled by the hands even of generals, the soil ex¬ 
ulting beneath the ploughshare crowned with laurels, 
and guided by a husbandman graced with triumphs. 
It was only after slaves became extensively employed 
in all departments of industry that labor came to be re¬ 
garded as dishonorable and servile. And so soon as 
indolence and luxury became the characteristics of the 
ruling classes of Rome, the downfall of the empire, 
sooner or later, was inevitable. 

There is, perhaps, no tendency of our nature that 
has to be more carefully guarded against than indo¬ 
lence. When Mr. Gurney asked an intelligent foreigner 
who had travelled over the greater part of the world, 
whether he had observed any one quality which, more 
than another, could be regarded as a universal charac¬ 
teristic of our species, his answer was, in broken Eng¬ 
lish, “ Me tink dat all men love lazy” It is character¬ 
istic of the savage as of the despot. It is natural to 
men to endeavor to enjoy the products of labor without 
its toils. Indeed, so universal is this desire, that James 
Mill has argued that it was to prevent its indulgence at 
the expense of society at large, that the expedient of 
government was originally invented. 


148 


The Curse of Idleness . 

Indolence is equally degrading to individuals as to 
nations. Sloth never made its mark in the world, and 
never will. Sloth never climbed a hill, nor overcame 
a difficulty that it could avoid. Indolence always failed 
in life, and always will. It is in the nature of things 
that it should not succeed in any thing. It is a burden, 
an incumbrance, and a nuisance—always useless, com¬ 
plaining, melancholy, and miserable. 

Burton, in his quaint and curious book—the only one, 
Johnson says, that ever took him out of bed two hours 
sooner than he wished to rise—describes the causes of 
Melancholy as hinging mainly on Idleness. “ Idleness,” 
he says, u is the bane of body and mind, the nurse of 
naughtiness, the chief mother of all mischief, one of 
the seven deadly sins, the devil’s cushion, his pillow and 
chief reposal. * * * An idle dog will be mangy; 

and how shall an idle person escape? Idleness of the 
mind is much worse than that of the body: wit, without 
employment, is a disease—the rust of the soul, a plague, 
a hell itself. As in a standing pool, worms and filthy 
creepers increase, so do evil and corrupt thoughts in an 
idle person; the soul is contaminated. * * * Thus 

much I dare boldly say: he or she that is idle, be they 
of what condition they will, never so rich, so well allied, 
fortunate, happy—let them have all things in abundance 
and felicity that heart can wish and desire, all content¬ 
ment—so long as he, or she, or they, are idle, they 
shall never be pleased, never well in body or mind, but 
weary still, sickly still, vexed still, loathing still, weep¬ 
ing, sighing, grieving, suspecting, offended with the 
world with every object, wishing themselves gone or 


Causes of Melancholy . 149 

dead, or eise carried away with some foolish phantasie 
or other.” 

The indolent, however, are not wholly indolent. 
Though the body may shirk labor, the brain is not idle. 
If it do not grow corn, it will grow thistles, which will 
be found springing up all along the idle man’s course in 
life. The ghosts of indolence rise up in the dark, ever 
staring the recreant in the face, and tormenting him: 

“ The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices, 

Make instruments to scourge us.’’ 

“Dost thou love life?” said Franklin, “ Then do not 
squander time for that is the stuff it is made of.” True 
happiness is never found in torpor of the faculties, but 
in their action and useful employment. It is indolence 
that exhausts, not action, in which there is life, health, 
and pleasure. The spirits may be exhausted and 
wearied by employment, but they are utterly wasted 
by idleness. Hence a wise physician was accustomed 
to regard occupation as one of his most valuable reme¬ 
dial measures. “ Nothing is so injurious,” said Dr. 
Marshall Hall, “ as unoccupied time.” An archbishop 
of Mayence used to say that “ the human heart is like 
a mill-stone: if you put wheat under it, it grinds the 
wheat into flour; if you put no wheat, it grinds on, but 
then ’tis itself it wears away.” 

It has been truly said that to desire to possess with¬ 
out being burdened with the trouble of acquiring is as 
much a sign of weakness, as to recognize that every 
thing worth having is only to be got by paying its price 
is the prime secret of practical strength. Even leisure 


150 Industry and Leisure. 

can not be enjoyed unless it is won by effort. If it have 
not been earned by work, the price has not been paid 
for it. 

There must be work before and work behind, with 
leisure to fall back upon; but the leisure, without the 
work, can no more be enjoyed than a surfeit. Life 
must needs be disgusting alike to the idle rich man as 
to the idle poor man, who has no work to do, or, having 
work, will not do it. The words found tatooed on the 
right arm of a sentimental beggar of forty, undergo¬ 
ing his eighth imprisonment in the jail of Bourges in 
France, might be adopted as the motto of all idlers: 
u The past has deceived me; the present torments me; 
the future terrifies me.” 

The duty of industry applies to all classes and con¬ 
ditions of society. All have their work to do in their 
respective conditions of life—the rich as well as the 
poor. The gentleman by birth and education, however 
richly he may be endowed with worldly possessions, 
can not but feel that he is in duty bound to contribute 
his quota of endeavor towards the general well-being 
in which he shares. He can not be satisfied with being 
fed, clad, and maintained by the labor of others, with¬ 
out making some suitable return to the society that 
upholds him. An honest, high-minded man would re¬ 
volt at the idea of sitting down to and enjoying a feast, 
and then going away without paying his share of the 
reckoning. To be idle and useless is neither an honor 
nor a privilege; and though persons of small natures 
may be content merely to consume—men of average 


151 


Work a Universal Duty . 

endowment, ot manly aspirations, and of honest pur¬ 
pose, will feel such a condition to be incompatible with 
real honor and true dignity. 

“ I don’t believe,” said Lord Stanley at Glasgow, 
11 that an unemployed man, however amiable and other¬ 
wise respectable, ever was, or ever can be, really happy. 
As work is our life, show me what you can do, and I 
will show you what you are. I have spoken of love of 
one’s work as the best preventive of merely low and vic¬ 
ious tastes. I will go further, and say that it is the best 
preservative against petty anxieties, and the annoyances 
that arise out of indulged self-love. Men have thought 
before now that they could take refuge from trouble 
and vexation by sheltering themselves, as it were, in a 
world of their own. The experiment has often been 
tried, and always with one result. You can not escape 
from anxiety and labor—it is the destiny of humanity. 
* * * Those who shirk from facing trouble find that 

trouble comes to them. The indolent may contrive that 
he shall have less than his share of the world’s work to 
do, but Nature, proportioning the instinct to the work, 
contrives that the little shall be much and hard to him. 
The man who has only himself to please, finds, sooner 
or later, and probably sooner than later, that he has got 
a very hard master; and the excessive weakness which 
shrinks from responsibility has its own punishment too, 
for where great interests are excluded little matters be¬ 
come great, and the same wear and tear of mind that 
might have been at least usefully and healthfully ex¬ 
pended on the real business of life, is often wasted in 


152 


Life and Work. 

petty and imaginary vexations, such as breed and mul¬ 
tiply in the unoccupied brain.” 

Even on the lowest ground—that of personal enjoy¬ 
ment—constant useful occupation is necessary. He 
who labors not can not enjoy the reward of labor. “We 
sleep sound,” said Sir Walter Scott, “ and our waking 
hours are happy, when they are employed; and a little 
sense of toil is necessary to the enjoyment of leisure, 
even when earned by study and sanctioned by the dis¬ 
charge of duty.” 

It is true there are men who die of overwork; but 
many more die of selfishness, indulgence, and idleness. 
Where men break down by overwork, it is most com¬ 
monly from want of duly ordering their lives, and neg¬ 
lect of the ordinary conditions of physical health. Lord 
Stanley was probably right when he said, in his address 
to the Glasgow students above mentioned, that he doubt¬ 
ed whether hard work, “ steadily and regularly carried 
on, ever yet hurt any body.” 

Then, again, length of years is no proper test of 
length of life . A man’s life is to be measured by what 
he does in it, and what he feels in it. The more useful 
work the man does, and the more he thinks and feels, 
the more he readily lives. The idle, useless man, no 
matter to what extent his life may be prolonged, mere¬ 
ly vegetates. 

The early teachers of Christianity ennobled the lot of 
toil by their example. “ He that will not work,” said 
St. Paul, “neither shall he eat; ” and he glorified hfm- 
self in that he had labored with his hands, and had not 


153 


The Dignity of Work . 

been chargeable to any man. When St. Boniface land¬ 
ed in Britain, he came with a gospel in one hand and a 
carpenter’s rule in the other; and from England he af¬ 
terwards passed over into Germany, carrying thither the 
art of building. Luther also, in the midst of a multi¬ 
tude of other employments, worked dilligently for a liv¬ 
ing, earning his bread by gardening, building, turning, 
and even clock-making. 

It was characteristic of Napoleon, when visiting a 
work of mechanical excellence, to pay great respect to 
the inventor, and, on taking his leave, to salute him with 
a low bow. Once, at St. Helena, when walking with 
Mrs. Balcombe, some servants came along, carrying a 
load. The lady, in an angry tone, ordered them out of 
the way, on which Napoleon interposed, saying, “ Re¬ 
spect the burden, madam.” Even the drudgery of the 
general humblest laborer contributes towards the well¬ 
being of society; and it was a wise saying of a Chinese 
emperor that, u if there was a man who did not work, 
or a woman that was idle, somebody must suffer cold 
or hunger in the empire. 

The habit of constant useful occupation is as essential 
for the happiness and well-being of women as of man. 
Without it women are apt to sink into a state of listless 
ennui and uselessness, accompanied by sick-headache 
and attacks of “ nerves.” Caroline Perthes carefully 
warned her married daughter Louisa to beware of 
giving way to such listlessnesss. “ I, myself,” she said, 
“ when the children are gone out for a half-holiday, 
sometimes feel as stupid and dull as an owl by day¬ 
light; but one must not yield to this, which happens 


154 


Work and Happiness. 


more or less to all young wives. The best relief is 
'work , engaged in with interest and diligence. Work, 
then, constantly and diligently, at something or other; 
for idleness is the devil’s snare for small and great, as 
your grandfather says, and he says true.” 

Constant useful occupation is thus wholesome, not 
only for the body, but for the mind. While the sloth¬ 
ful man drags himself indolently through life, and the 
better part of his nature sleeps a deep sleep, if not mor¬ 
ally and spiritually dead, the energetic man is a source 
of activity and enjoyment to all who come within reach 
of his influence. Even any ordinary drudgery is better 
than idleness. Fuller says of Sir Francis Drake, who 
was early sent to sea, and kept close to his work by his 
master, that such “ pains and patience in his youth knit 
the joints of his soul, and made them more solid and 
compact.” Schiller used to say that he considered it a 
great advantage to be employed in the discharge of 
some daily mechanical duty—some regular routine of 
work, that rendered steady application necessary. 

Thousands can bear testimony to the truth of the 
saying of Greuze, the French painter, that work is one 
of the great secrets of happiness. Casaubon was once 
induced by the entreaties of his friends to take a few 
days’ entire rest, but he returned to his work with the 
remark, that it was easier to bear illness doing some¬ 
thing than doing nothing. 

When Charles Lamb was released for life from his 
daily drudgery of desk work at the India Office, he felt 
himself the happiest of men. “ I would not go back to 
my prison,” he said to a friend, “ ten years longer for 


Practical Importance of Industry . 155 

ten thousand pounds.” He also wrote in the same ec¬ 
static mood to Bernard Barton. “I have scarce steadi 
ness of head to compose a letter,” he said; u I am free! 
free as air! I will live another fifty years. * * * 

Would I could sell you some of my leisure! Positively 
the best thing a man can do is—nothing; and next to 
that, perhaps, Good Works.” Two years, two long and 
tedious years, passed, and Charles Lamb’s feelings had 
undergone an entire change. He now discovered that 
official, even humdrum work—“ the appointed round, 
the daily task”—had been good for him, though he 
knew it not. Time had formerly been his friend; it 
had now become his enemy. To Bernard Barton he 
again wrote: “ I assure you, no work is worse than 
overwork; the mind preys on itself—the most unwhole¬ 
some of food. I have ceased to care for almost any¬ 
thing. * * * Never did the waters of heaven pour 

down upon a forlorner head. What I can do, and over¬ 
do, is to walk. I am a sanguinary murderer of time. 
But the oracle is silent.” 

No man could be more sensible of the practical im¬ 
portance of industry than Sir Walter Scott, who was 
himself one of the most laborious and indefatigable of 
men. Indeed, Lockhart says of him that, taking all 
ages and countries together, the rare example of tire¬ 
less energy, in union with serene self-possession of mind 
and manner, such as Scott’s, must be sought for in the 
roll of great sovereigns or great captains, rather than 
in that of literary genius. Scott himself was most 
anxious to impress upon the minds of his own children 
the importance of industry as a means of usefulness and 


156 


Scott and Southey . 


happiness in the world. To his son Charles, when at 
school, he wrote: u I cannot too much impress upon 
your mind that labor is the condition which Goa has 
imposed on us in every station of life; there is nothing 
worth having that can be had without it, from the 
bread which the peasant wins with the sweat of his 
brow, to the sports by which the rich man must get rid 
of his ennui . * * * As for knowledge, it can no 

more be planted in the human mind without labor than 
a field of wheat can be produced without the previous 
use of a plow. There is, indeed, the great difference 
that chance or circumstances may so cause it that an¬ 
other shall reap what the farmer sows; but no man can 
be deprived, whether by accident or misfortune, of the 
fruits of his own studies, and liberal and extended ac¬ 
quisitions of knowledge which he makes are all for his 
own use. Labor, therefore, my dear boy, and improve 
the time. In youth our steps are light, and our minds 
are ductile, and knowledge is easily laid up, but if we 
neglect our spring, our summers will be useless and 
contemptible, our harvest will be chaff, and the winter 
of our old age unrespected and desolate.” 

Southey was as laborious a worker as Scott. Indeed, 
work might almost be said to form part of his religion. 
He was only nineteen when he wrote these words: 
“ Nineteen years! certainly a fourth part of my life, 
and yet I have been of no service to society. , The 
clown who scares crows for twopence a day is a more 
useful man; he preserves the bread which I eat in idle¬ 
ness.” And yet Southey had not been idle as a boy— 
on the contrary, he had been a most diligent student. 


Pleasure of Working. 157 

He had not only read largely in English literature, but 
was well acquainted, through translations, with Tasso, 
Ariosto, Homer and Ovid. He felt, however, as if his 
life had been purposeless, and he determined to do 
something. He began, and from that time forward 
he pursued an unremitting career of literary labor 
down to the close of his life—“ daily progressing in 
learning,” to use his own words—“ not so learned as 
he is poor, not so poor as proud, not so proud as 
happy.” 

The memoirs of men who have thrown their oppor¬ 
tunities away would constitute a painful but memorable 
volume for the world’s instruction. u No strong man, 
in good health,” says Ebenezer Eliot, “ can be neglected 
if he be true to himself. For the benefit of the young, 
I wish we had a correct account of the number of per¬ 
sons who fail of success in a thousand who resolutely 
strive to do well. I do not think it exceeds one per 
cent.” Men grudge success, but it is only the last 
term of what looked like a series of failures. They 
failed at first, then again and again, but at last their 
difficulties vanished, and success was achieved. 

The desire to possess, without being burdened with 
the trouble of acquiring, is a great sign of weakness and 
laziness. Everything that is worth enjoying or posses¬ 
sing can only be got by the pleasure of working. This 
is the great secret of practical strength. u One may 
very distinctly prefer industry to indolence, the health¬ 
ful exercise of all one’s faculties to allowing them to 
rest unused in drowsy torpor. In the long run we shall 


158 Work an Educator of Character . 

probably find that the exercise of the faculties has of 
itself been the source of a more genuine happiness than 
has followed the actual attainment of what the exer¬ 
cise was directed to procure.” 

“ The weakest living creature,” says Carlyle, “ by 
concentrating his powers on a single object, can ac¬ 
complish something; whereas the strongest, by dispers¬ 
ing his over many, may fail to accomplish anything.” 

Have we difficulties to contend with? Then work 
through them. No exorcism charms like labor. Idle¬ 
ness of mind and body resembles rust. It wears more 
than work. “ I would rather work out than rust out,” 
said a noble worker. Schiller said that he found the 
greatest happiness in life to consist in the performance 
of some mechanical duty. 

It is because application to business teaches method 
most effectually, that it is so useful as an educator of 
character. The highest working qualities are best 
trained by active and sympathetic contact with others 
in the affairs of daily life. It does not matter whether 
the business relates to the management of a household 
or of a nation. Indeed, as we have endeavored to show 
in a preceding chapter, the able housewife must neces¬ 
sarily be an efficient woman of business. She must 
regulate and control the details of her home, keep her 
expenditure within her means, arrange everything ac¬ 
cording to plan and system, and wisely manage and 
govern those subject to her rule. Efficient domestic 
management implies industry, application, method, mor¬ 
al discipline, forethought, prudence, practical ability,, 


159 


Training to Business . 

insight into character, and power of organization, all of 
which are required in the efficient management of busi¬ 
ness of whatever sort. 

Business qualities have, indeed, a very large field of 
action. They mean aptitude for affairs, competency to 
deal successfully with the practical work of life—wheth¬ 
er the spur of action lie in domestic management, in the 
conduct of a profession, in trade or commerce, in social 
organization, or in political government. And the train¬ 
ing which gives efficiency in dealing with these various 
affairs is, of all others, the most useful in practical life. 
Moreover, it is the best discipline of character; for it 
involves the exercise of diligence, attention, self-denial, 
judgment, tact, knowledge of and sympathy with 
others. 

Like other great captains, Wellington had an almost 
boundless capacity for work. He drew up the heads of 
a Dublin Police Bill (being still the Secretary for Ire¬ 
land) when tossing off the mouth of the Mondego, with 
Junot and the French army waiting for him on the 
shore. So Caesar, another of the greatest commanders, 
is said to have written an essay on Latin Rhetoric while 
crossing the Alps at the head of his army. And Wal¬ 
lenstein, when at the head of 60,000 men, and in the 
midst of a campaign, with the enemy before him, dic¬ 
tated from headquarters the medical treatment of his 
poultry-yard. 

Washington, also, was an indefatigable man of busi¬ 
ness. From his boyhood he diligently trained himself in 
habits of application, of study, and of methodical work. 


160 


Literature and Business . 


His manuscript school-books, which are still preserved, 
show that, as early as the age of thirteen, he occupied 
himself voluntarily in copying out such things as forms 
of receipts, notes of hand, bills of exchange, bonds, in¬ 
dentures, leases, land-warrants, and other dry docu¬ 
ments, all written out with great care. And the habits 
which he thus early acquired were, in a great measure, 
the foundation of those admirable business qualities 
which he afterwards successfully brought to bear in the 
affairs of government. 

Most of the early English writers were men of af¬ 
fairs, trained to business; for no literary class as yet 
existed, excepting it might be the priesthood. Chaucer, 
the father of English poetry, was first a soldier, and 
afterwards a comptroller of petty customs. The office 
was no sinecure either, for he had to write up all the 
records with his own hand; and when he had done his 
u reckonings ” at the custom-house, he returned with 
delight to his favorite studies at home—poring over 
his books until his eyes were “ dazed ” and dull. 

Indeed, habits of business, instead of unfitting a cul¬ 
tivated mind for scientific or literary pursuits, are often 
the best training for them. Voltaire insisted with truth 
that the real spirit of business and literature are the 
same; the perfection of each being the union of energy 
and thoughtfulness, of cultivated intelligence and prac¬ 
tical wisdom, of the active and contemplative essence— 
a union commended by Lord Bacon as the concentrated 
excellence of man’s nature. It has been said that even 
the man of genius can write nothing worth reading in 


Modern Literary Workers . 


161 


relation to human affairs, unless he has been in some way 
or other connected with the serious every-day business of 
life. 

Hence it has happened that many of the best books 
extant have been written by men of business, with whom 
literature was a pastime rather than a profession. Gif¬ 
ford, the editor of the “ Quarterly,” who knew the 
drudgery of writing for a living, once observed that “ a 
single hour of composition, won from the business of the 
day, is worth more than the whole days’s toil of him who 
works at the trade of literature; in the one case, the 
spirit comes joyfully to refresh itself, like a hart to the 
water-brooks; in the other, it pursues its miserable way, 
panting and jaded, with the dogs and hunger of necessity 
behind.” 

Samuel Richardson successfully combined literature 
with business—writing his novels in his back shop in 
Salisbury court, Fleet Street, and selling them over the 
counter in his front shop. William Hutton, of Birming¬ 
ham, also successfully combined the occupations of 
bookselling and authorship. He says, in his Autobiog¬ 
raphy, that a man may live half a century and not be 
acquainted with his own character. He did not know 
that he was an antiquarian until the world informed him 
of it, from having read his “ History of Birmingham,” 
and then, he said, he could see it himself. Benjamin 
Franklin was alike eminent as a printer and bookseller 
—an author, a philosopher, and a statesman. 

Montaigne has said of true philosophers that “ if they 
were great in science, they were yet much greater in 
action; * * * and whenever they have been put 


n 


162 Speculative and Practical Ability . 

upon the proof, they have been seen to fly to so high a 
pitch, as made it very well appear their souls were 
strangely elevated and enriched with the knowledge of 
things.” “ Thales, speaking against the pains and care 
men put themselves to to become rich, was answered 
by one in the company that he did like the fox, who 
found fault with what he could not obtain. Thereupon 
Thales had a mind, for the jest’s sake, to show them 
the contrary; and having upon this occasion for once 
made a muster of all his wits, wholly to employ them 
in the service of profit, he set a traffic on foot, which in 
one year brought him in so great riches, that the most 
experienced in that trade could hardly in their whole 
lives, with all their industry, have raked so much to¬ 
gether.” 

Niebuhr, the historian, was distinguished for his en¬ 
ergy and success as a man of business. He proved so 
efficient as secretary and accountant to the African 
consulate, to which he had been appointed by the Dan¬ 
ish Government, that he was afterwards selected as one 
of the commissioners to manage the national finances; 
and he quitted that office to undertake the joint direc¬ 
torship of a bank at Berlin. It was in the midst of his 
business occupations that he found time to study Roman 
history, to master the Arabic, Russian, and other Scla¬ 
vonic languages, and to build up the great reputation 
as an author by which he is now chiefly remembered. 

Men of trained working faculty so contract the habit 
of labor that idleness becomes intolerable to them; and 
when driven by circumstances from their own special 
line of occupation, they find refuge in other pursuits. 


163 


Sir George C. Lewis. 

The diligent man is quick to find employment for his 
leisure; and he is able to make leisure when the idle 
man finds none. u He hath no leisure,” says George 
Herbert, “who useth it not.” “ The most active or 
busy man that has been or can be,” says Bacon, “ has 
many vacant times of leisure, except he be either 
tedious and of no dispatch, or lightly and unworthily 
ambitious to meddle with things that may be better 
done by others.” Thus many great things have been 
done during such “vacant times of leisure,” by men to 
whom industry had become a second nature, and who 
found it easier to work than to be idle. 

One of the most able and laborious of our recent 
statesmen—with whom literature was a hobby as well 
as a pursuit—was the late Sir George Cornewall Lewis. 
He was an excellent man of business—diligent, exact, 
and painstaking. He filled by turns the offices of presi¬ 
dent of the poor-law board—the machinery of which 
he created—chancellor of the exchequer, home secre¬ 
tary, and secretary at war; and in each he achieved the 
reputation of a thoroughly successful administrator. In 
the intervals of his official labors he occupied himself 
with inquiries into a wide range of subjects—history, 
politics, philology, anthropology, and antiquarianism. 
His works on “ The Astronomy of the Ancients,” and 
“ Essays on the Formation of the Romanic Languages,” 
might have been written by the profoundest of German 
scholars. He took especial delight in pursuing the ab- 
struser branches of learning, and found in them his chief 
pleasure and recreation. Lord Palmerston sometimes 
remonstrated with him, telling him he was “ taking too 


164 


Work and Overwork . 


much out of himself” by laying aside official papers 
after office hours in order to study books; Palmerston 
himself declaring that he had no time to read books 
—that the reading of manuscript was quite enough for 
him. 

Doubtless Sir George Lewis rode his hobby too hard, 
and, but for his devotion to study, his useful life would 
probably have been prolonged. Whether in or out of 
office, he read, wrote, and studied. He relinquished 
the editorship of the u Edinburgh Review ” to become 
chancellor of the exchequer; and when no longer occu¬ 
pied in preparing budgets, he proceeded to copy out a 
mass of Greek manuscripts at the British Museum. He 
took particular delight in pursuing any difficult inquiry 
in classical antiquity. One of the odd subjects with 
which he occupied himself was an examination into the 
truth of reported cases of longevity, which, according 
to his custom, he doubted or disbelieved. This subject 
was uppermost in his mind while pursuing his canvass 
of Herefordshire in 1852. On applying to a voter one 
day for his support, he was met by a decided refusal. 
“ I am sorry,” was the candidate’s reply, “ that you 
can’t give me your vote; but perhaps you can tell me 
whether any body in your parish has died at an extra¬ 
ordinary age!” 

A fair measure of work is good for mind as well as 
body. Man is an intelligence sustained and preserved 
by bodily organs, and their active exercise is necessary 
to the enjoyment of health. It is not work, but over¬ 
work, that is hurtful; and it is not hard work that is 
injurious so much as monotonous work, fagging work, 


Waste in Overwork. 


165 


hopeless work. All hopeful work is healthful; and to 
be usefully and hopefully employed is one of the great 
secrets of happiness. Brain-work, in moderation, is no 
more wearing than any other kind of work. Duly 
regulated, it is as promotive of health as bodily exer¬ 
cise; and, where due attention is paid to the physical 
system, it seems difficult to put more upon a man than 
he can bear. Merely to eat and drink and sleep one’s 
way idly through life is vastly more injurious. The 
wear-and-tear of rust is even faster than the tear-and- 
wear of work. 

But overwork is always bad economy. It is, in fact, 
great waste, especially if conjoined with worry. In¬ 
deed, worry kills far more than work does. It frets, it 
excites, it consumes the body—as sand and grit, which 
occasion excessive friction, wear out the wheels of a 
machine. Overwork and worry have both to be 
guarded against. For over-brain-work is strain-work; 
and it is exhausting and destructive according as it is 
in excess of nature. And the brain-worker may ex¬ 
haust and overbalance his mind by excess, just as the 
athlete may overstrain his muscles and break his back 
by attempting feats beyond the strength of his physical 
system. 



CHAPTER VII 


HELPING ONE’S SELF. 

“ The worth of a State, in the long run, is the worth of the individuals com¬ 
posing it.”—J. S. Mill. 

“ We put too much faith in systems, and look too little to men.”— B. Dis¬ 
raeli. 

EAVEN helps those who help themselves ” 
is a well-tried maxim, embodying in a small 
compass the results of vast human experi¬ 
ence. The spirit of self-help is the root of 
all genuine growth in the individual; and, exhibited in 
the lives of many, it constitutes the true source of na¬ 
tional vigor and strength. Help from without is often 
enfeebling in its effects, but help from within invariably 
invigorates. Whatever is done for men or classes, to a 
certain, extent takes away the stimulus and necessity of 
doing for themselves; and where men are subjected to 
over-guidance and over-government, the inevitable tend¬ 
ency is to render them comparatively helpless. 

Even the best institutions can give a man no active 
help. Perhaps the most they can do is to leave him free 
to develop himself and improve his individual condition. 
But, in all times, men have been prone to believe that 
their happiness and well-being were to be secured by 
means of institutions rather than by their own conduct. 








Government and the Individual . 167 

Hence the value of legislation as an agent in human ad¬ 
vancement has usually been much over-estimated. To 
constitute the millionth part of a Legislature, by voting 
for one or two men once in three or five years, however 
conscientiously this duty may be performed, can exer¬ 
cise but little active influence upon any man’s life and 
character. Moreover, it is every day becoming more 
clearly understood, that the function of Government is 
negative and restrictive, rather than positive and active; 
being resolvable principally into protection—protection 
of life, liberty, and property. Laws, wisely adminis¬ 
tered, will secure men in the enjoyment of the fruits of 
their labor, whether of mind or body, at a comparatively 
small personal sacrifice; but no laws, however stringent, 
can make the idle industrious, the thriftless provident, or 
the drunken sober. Such reforms can only be effected 
by means of individual action, economy, and self-denial; 
by better habits, rather than by greater rights. 

The Government of a nation itself is usually found to 
be but the reflex of the individuals composing it. The 
Government that is ahead of the people will inevitably 
be dragged down to their level, as the Government that 
is behind them will, in the long run, be dragged up. In 
the order of nature, the collective character of a nation 
will as surely find its befitting results in its law and gov¬ 
ernment as water finds its own level. The noble people 
will be nobly ruled, and the ignorant and corrupt igno¬ 
bly. Indeed, all experience serves to prove that the 
worth and strength of a State depend far less upon the 
form of its institutions than upon the character of its 
men. For the nation is only an aggregate of individual 


168 


National Progress . 


conditions, and civilization itself is but a question of the 
personal improvement of the men, women, and children 
of whom society is composed. 

National progress is the sum of individual industry, 
energy, and uprightness, as national decay is of individ¬ 
ual idleness, selfishness, and vice. What we are accus¬ 
tomed to decry, as great social evils, will, for the most 
part, be found to be but the outgrowth of man’s own 
perverted life; and, though we may endeavor to cut 
them down and extirpate them by means of Law, they 
will only spring up again, with fresh luxuriance, in some 
other form, unless the conditions of personal life and 
character are radically improved. If this view be cor¬ 
rect, then it follows that the highest patriotism and phil¬ 
anthropy consist, not so much in altering laws and mod¬ 
ifying institutions, as in helping and stimulating men to 
elevate and improve themselves by their own free and 
independent individual action. 

It may be of comparatively little consequence how a 
man is governed from without, whilst everything de¬ 
pends upon how he governs himself from within. The 
greatest slave is not he who is ruled by a despot, great 
though that evil be, but he who is the thrall of his own 
moral ignorance, selfishness and vice. Nations who 
are thus enslaved at heart cannot be freed by any mere 
changes of masters or of institutions, and so long as the 
fatal delusion prevails, that liberty solely depends upon 
and consists in government, so long will such changes, 
no matter at what cost they may be effected, have as 
little practical and lasting result as the shifting of the 
figures in a phantasmagoria. The solid foundations. 


Ccesa rism — Independence . 


169 


of liberty must rest upon individual character, which 
is also the only sure guaranty for social security and 
national progress. John Stuart Mill truly observes that 
“ even despotism does not produce its worst effects so 
long as individuality exists under it, and whatever 
crushes individuality is despotism, by whatever name it 
be called.” 

Old fallacies as to human progress are constantly 
turning up. Some call for Caesars, others for nationali¬ 
ties, and others for acts of Parliament. We are to 
wait for Caesars, and when they are found, “ happy the 
people who recognize and follow them.” This doc¬ 
trine shortly means everything for the people, nothing 
by them, a doctrine which, if taken as a guide, must, 
by destroying the free conscience of a community, 
speedily prepare the way for any form of despotism, 
Caesarism is human idolatry in its worst form—a wor¬ 
ship of mere power, as degrading in its effects as the wor¬ 
ship of mere wealth would be. A far healthier doc¬ 
trine to inculcate among the nations would be that of 
self-help; and so soon as it is thoroughly understood 
and carried into action, Caesarism will be no more. 

All nations have been made what they are by the 
thinking and the working of many generations of men. 
Patient and persevering laborers in all ranks and condi¬ 
tions of life, cultivators of the soil and explorers of the 
mine, inventors and discoverers, manufacturers, me¬ 
chanics and artisans, poets, philosophers and politi¬ 
cians, all have contributed towards the grand result, 
one generation building upon another’s labors, and car¬ 
rying them forward to still higher stages. This con- 


170 


James Watt. 


stant succession of noble workers—the artisans of civi¬ 
lization—has served to create order out of chaos in in¬ 
dustry, science and art, and the living race has thus, in 
the course of nature, become the inheritor of the rich 
estate provided by the skill and industry of our fore¬ 
fathers, which is placed in our hands to cultivate and to 
hand down, not only unimpaired but improved, to our 
successors. 

James Watt was one of the most industrious of men, 
and the story of his life proves, what all experience con¬ 
firms, that it is not the man of the greatest natural vigor 
and capacity who achieves the highest results, but he 
who employs his powers with the greatest industry and 
the most carefully disciplined skill—the skill that comes 
by labor, application and experience. Many men in his 
time knew far more than Watt, but none labored so as¬ 
siduously as he did to turn all that he did know to use¬ 
ful practical purposes. He was, above all things, most 
persevering in the pursuit of facts. He cultivated care¬ 
fully that habit of active attention on which all the 
higher working qualities of the mind mainly depend. 
Indeed, Mr. Edgeworth entertained the opinion that the 
difference of intellect in men depends more upon the 
early cultivation of this habit of attention , than upon 
any great disparity between the powers of one individ¬ 
ual and another. 

Even when a boy, Watt found science in his toys. 
The quadrants lying about his father’s carpenter’s shop 
led him to the study of optics and astronomy; his ill 
health induced him to pry into the secrets of physiology; 
and his solitary walks through the country attracted 



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Persevering Application and Energy. 171 

him to the study of botany and history. While carry¬ 
ing on the business of a mathematical-instrument maker, 
he received an order to build an organ, and, though 
without an ear for music, he undertook the study of 
harmonics, and successfully constructed the instrument. 
And, in like manner, when the little model of Newcom¬ 
en’s steam engine, belonging to the University of Glas-' 
gow, was placed in his hands to repair, he forthwith set 
himself to learn all that was then known about heat, 
evaporation and condensation—at the same time plod- 
ing his way in mechanics and the science of construction 
—the results of which he at length embodied in his con¬ 
densing steam engine. 

For ten years he went on contriving and inventing— 
with little hope to cheer him, and with few friends to 
encourage him. He went on, meanwhile, earning 
bread for his family by making and selling quadrants, 
making and mending fiddles, flutes and musical instru¬ 
ments, measuring mason-work, surveying roads, super¬ 
intending the construction of canals, or doing anything 
that turned up and offered a prospect of honest gain. 
At length Watt found a fit partner in another eminent 
leader of industry—Matthew Boulton, of Birmingham, 
a skillful, energetic and far-seeing man, who vigor¬ 
ously undertook the enterprise of introducing the con¬ 
densing engine into general use as a working power; 
and the success of both is now matter of history. 

The instances of men, in this and other countries, 
who, by dint of persevering application and energy, 
have raised themselves from the humblest ranks of in¬ 
dustry to eminent positions of usefulness and influence 


172 


James A . Garfield . 

in society, are so numerous that they have long ceased 
to be regarded as exceptional. Looking at some of the 
more remarkable, it might almost be said that early 
encounter with difficulty and adverse circumstances 
was the necessary and indispensable condition of suc¬ 
cess. The British House of Commons and the United 
States Congress have always contained a considerable 
number of such self-raised men—fitting representatives 
of the industrial character of the people, and it is to the 
credit of our Legislatures that they have been wel¬ 
comed and honored there. 

Men, who like Lincoln and Garfield, have risen from 
the humblest condition to great renown, are by no means 
exceptional in the great Republic of the West, where 
worth rather than birth forms the basis for promotion 
and influence. James A. Garfield was a typical Ameri¬ 
can. Born in poverty and obscurity, he struggled for¬ 
ward and upward against a sea of obstacles, and won 
his way by such gentleness of demeanor, coupled with 
such patience and courage, that he seems not to have 
provoked the enmity of any man. Mr. Garfield had a 
hard time of it as a boy. He toiled hard on the farm 
early and late in summer, and worked at the carpen¬ 
ter’s bench in winter. The best of it was that he liked 
work. He had an absorbing ambition to get an edu¬ 
cation, and the only road open to this end seemed that 
of manual labor. Ready money was hard to get in 
those days. The Ohio canal ran not far from where 
he lived, and, finding that the boatmen got their pay in 
cash and earned better wages than he could make at 
farming or carpentry, he hired out as a driver on the 


James A. Garfield . 


173 


towpath, and soon got up to the dignity of holding the 
helm of a boat. Then he determined to ship as a sail¬ 
or on the lakes, but an attack of fever and ague inter¬ 
fered with his plans. He was ill three months, and 
when he recovered he decided to go to school. His 
mother had saved a small sum of money, which she 
gave him, together with a few cooking utensils and a 
stock of provisions. Fie hired a small room and cooked 
his own food to make his expenses as light as possible. 
He paid his own way after that, never calling on his 
mother for any more assistance. By working at the 
carpenter’s bench mornings and evenings and vacation 
times, and teaching country schools during the winter, 
he managed to attend the Academy during the spring 
and fall terms and to save a little money towards going 
to college. He had excellent health, a robust frame 
and a capital memory, and the attempt to combine 
mental and physical work did not hurt him. 

When he was 23 years of age he concluded he had 
got about all there was to be had in the obscure cross¬ 
roads academy. He calculated he had saved about half 
enough money to get through college, provided he could 
begin, as he hoped, with the Junior year. He got a life- 
insurance policy, and assigned it to a gentleman as se¬ 
curity for a loan to make up the amount he lacked. In the 
Fall of 1854 he entered the Junior Class of Williams 
College, Massachusetts, and graduated in 1856, with the 
metaphysical honors of his class. 

When Garfield returned to Ohio it was natural that 
he should soon gravitate to the struggling little 


174 


James A, Garfield, 

college at Hiram, Portage County, near his boyhood’s 
home. He became Professor of Latin and Greek, and 
threw himself, with the energy and industry which were 
leading traits in his character, into the work of build¬ 
ing up the institution. Before he had been two years 
in his professorship he was appointed President of the 
college. Hiram is a lonesome country village, three 
miles from a railroad, built upon a high hill, overlook¬ 
ing twenty miles of cheese-making country to the south¬ 
ward. It contains fifty or sixty houses clustered around 
the green, in the centre of which stands the homely 
red-brick college structure. Plain living and high 
thinking was the order of things at Hiram College in 
those days. The teachers were poor, but there was a 
great deal of hard, faithful study done, and many ambi¬ 
tious plans formed. The young President taught, lec¬ 
tured, and preached, and all the time studied as diligent¬ 
ly as any acolyte in the temple of knowledge. 

During his professorship Garfield married Miss Lucre- 
tia Rudolph, daughter of a farmer in the neighborhood, 
whose acquaintance he had made while at the academy, 
where she was also a pupil. She was a quiet, thought¬ 
ful girl, of singularly sweet and refined disposition, 
fond of study and reading, possessing a warm heart and 
a mind with the capacity of steady growth. The mar¬ 
riage was a love affair on both sides, and has been a 
thoroughly happy one. Much of General Garfield’s 
subsequent success in life may be attributed to the never 
failing sympathy and intellectual companionship of his 
wile and the stimulus of a loving home circle. The 


James A Garfield . 


175 


young couple bought a neat little cottage fronting on 
the college campus, and began their wedded life poor 
and in debt, but with brave hearts. 

In 1859 college President was elected to the State 
Senate, from the counties of Portage and Summit. He 
did not resign his Presidency, because he looked upon; 
a few months in the Legislature as an episode not like- ‘ 
ly to change the course of his life. But the war came 
to alter his plans. During the winter of 1861 he was 
active in the passage of measures for arming the State 
militia, and his eloquence and energy made him a con¬ 
spicuous leader of the Union party. Early in the sum¬ 
mer of 1861 he was elected Colonel of an infantry regi 
ment raised in Northern Ohio, many of the soldiers in 
which had been students at Hiram. He took the field 
in Eastern Kentucky, was soon put in command of a 
brigade, and, by making one of the hardest marches 
ever made by recruits, surprised and routed the Rebel 
forces, under Humphrey Marshal, at Piketon. 

From Eastern Kentucky General Garfield was trans¬ 
ferred to Louisville, and from that place hastened to 
join the army of General Buel, which he reached with 
his brigade in time to participate in the second day’s 
fighting at Pittsburg Landing. He took part in the 
siege of Corinth and in the operations along the Mem¬ 
phis and Charleston Railroad. 

In January, 1863, he was appointed Chief of Staff of 
the Army of the Cumberland, and bore a prominent 
share in all the campaigns in Middle Tennessee in the 
spring and summer of that year. His last conspicuous 
military service was at the battle of Chicamauga. For 


176 James A. Garfield. 

his conduct in that battle he was promoted to a Major- 
Generalship. 

The Congressional district in which Garfield lived was 
the one long made famous by Joshua R. Giddings. His 
supporters nominated him while he was in the field, with¬ 
out asking his consent. That was in 1862. When he 
heard of the nomination Garfield reflected that it would 
be fifteen months before the Congress would meet to 
which he would be elected, and believing; as did every 
one else, that the war could not possibly last a year lon¬ 
ger, concluded to accept. He often expressed regret 
that he did not help to fight the war through, and said 
that he never would have left the army to go to Con¬ 
gress had he foreseen that the struggle would continue 
beyond the year 1863. He continued his military ser¬ 
vice up to the time Congress met. 

On entering Congress, in December, 1863, Gen. Gar¬ 
field was placed upon the Committee on Military Affairs 
with Schenck and Farnsworth, who were also fresh 
from the field. He took an active part in the debates 
of the House, and won a recognition which few new 
members succeed in gaining. He was not popular 
among his fellow-members during his first term. They 
thought him something of a pedant because he some¬ 
times showed his scholarship in his speeches, and they 
were jealous of his prominence. His solid attainments 
and able social qualities enabled him to overcome this 
prejudice during his second term, and he became on 
terms of close friendship with the best men in both 
Houses. His committee service during his second term 
was on the Ways and Means, which was quite to his 


177 


fames A. Garfield. 

taste, for it gave him an opportunity to prosecute the 
studies in finance and political economy which he had 
always felt a fondness for. He was a hard worker and 
a great reader in those days, going home with his arms 
full of books from the Congressional Library and sitting 
up late nights to read them. It was then that he laid 
the foundations of the convictions on the subject of 
National finance which he since held so firmly amid 
all the storms of political agitation. 

In the fortieth Congress Gen. Garfield was chairman 
of the Committee on Military Affairs. In the forty- 
first he was given the chairmanship of Banking and 
Currency, which he liked much better, because it was 
in the line of his financial studies. His next promotion 
was to the chairmanship of the Appropriation Commit¬ 
tee, which he held until the Democrats came into power 
in the House in 1875. His chief work on that com¬ 
mittee was a steady and judicious reduction of the 
expenses of the Government. In all the political strug¬ 
gles in Congress he bore a leading part, his clear, vigo¬ 
rous, and moderate style of argument making him one 
of the most effective debaters in either House. 

When James G. Blaine went to the Senate, in 1877, 
the mantle of Republican leadership in the House was 
by common consent placed upon Garfield. In Janu¬ 
ary, 1880, Gen. Garfield was elected to the Senate. 
He received the unanimous vote of the Republican 
caucus, an honor never before given to any man of any 
party in the State of Ohio. 

Of his industry and studious habits a great deal 
might be said, but a single illustration will have to suf- 
12 


178 


Jewries A . Garfield . 

fice here. Once during the busiest part of a very busy 
session at Washington a visitor found him in his library, 
behind a big barricade of books. This was no unusual 
sight, but when the caller glanced at the volumes he saw 
that they were all different editions of Horace, or books 
relating to that poet. “I find that I am overworked, 
and need recreation,” said the General. “Now, my 
theory is that the best way to rest the mind is not to 
let it be idle, but to put it at something quite outside of 
the ordinary line of its employment. ' So I am resting 
by learning all the Congressional Library can show 
about Horace and the various editions and translations 
of his poems.” 

The circumstances of Gen. Garfield’s nomination for 
the Presidency, at Chicago, are thus told by one of his 
many biographers: There were some indications as the 
thirtieth ballot progressed on Tuesday, June 8, that the 
lesser candidates were giving way. The next ballot 
demonstrated that the Grant lines could not be broken, 
and the Blaine lines were at this time wavering. It 
was apparent the Convention was on the edge of a 
break. The next ballot, which was finished by half¬ 
past 12, was without exciting event. The close of the 
thirty-fourth was marked with some excitement grow¬ 
ing out of a break to Garfield, Wisconsin casting for 
him sixteen votes. This was the beginning of the end. 
To make up this number, Washburne, Blaine, and 
Sherman were drawn upon. When the result was de¬ 
clared, Gen. Garfield arose and addressed the Chair. 
The Chairman inquired for what purpose the gentle¬ 
man rose. 


179 


Mr . Lindsay . 

“ To a question of order,” said Garfield. 

“ The gentleman will state it,” said the Chair. 

“ I challenge,” said Mr. Garfield, “ the correctness of 
the announcement that contains votes for me. No man 
has a right, without the consent of the person voted 
for, to have his name announced and voted for in this 
Convention. Such consent I have not given.” 

This was overruled by the Chairman amidst laughter 
against Garfield, who had made the point on the vote 
cast for him by Wisconsin. 

Then the thirty-fifth ballot was taken. It was appa¬ 
rent that the Blaine men had broken up. 

The thirty-sixth ballot was taken amidst breathless 
excitement. It proved to be the last. It resulted: 
Grant, 306; Blaine, 42; Sherman, 3; Washburne, 6; 
Garfield, 399. 

The late Mr. Fox was accustomed to introduce his 
recollections of past times with the words, u when I 
was working as a weaver-boy at Norwich; ” and there 
are other members of Parliament, still living, whose 
origin has been equally humble. Mr. Lindsay, the well 
known ship-owner, once told the simple story of his life 
to the electors of Weymouth, in answer to an attack, 
upon him by his political opponents. He had been left 
an orphan at fourteen, and v/hen he left Glasgow for 
Liverpool, to push his way in the world, not being able 
to pay the usual fare, the captain of the steamer agreed 
to take his labor in exchange, and the boy worked his 
passage by trimming the coals in the coal-hole. At Liv¬ 
erpool he remained for seven weeks before he could ob¬ 
tain employment, during which time he lived in sheds 


180 


Richard Cohden. 


and fared hardly, until at last he found shelter on 
board a West Indiaman. He entered as a boy, 
and before he was nineteen, by steady good con¬ 
duct, had risen to the command of a ship. At 
twenty-three he retired from the sea, and settled on 
shore, after which his progress was rapid; “ he had 
prospered,” he said, “by steady industry, by constant 
work, and by ever keeping in view the great principle 
of doing to others as you would be done by.” 

Among like men of the same class may be ranked 
the late Richard Cobden, whose start in life was equal¬ 
ly humble. The son of a small farmer at Midhurst, in 
Sussex, he was sent at an early age to London, and em¬ 
ployed as a boy in a warehouse in the city. He was 
diligent, well conducted, and eager for information. His 
master, a man of the old school, warned him against 
too much reading; but the boy went on in his own 
course, storing his mind with the wealth found in books. 
He was promoted from one position of trust to another, 
became a traveler for his house, secured a large con¬ 
nection, and eventually started in business as a calico- 
printer at Manchester. Taking an interest in public 
questions, more especially in popular education, his at¬ 
tention was gradually drawn to the subject of the Corn 
Laws, to the repeal of which he may be said to have 
devoted his fortune and his life. It may be mentioned, 
as a curious fact, that the first speech he delivered in 
public was a total failure. But he had great persever¬ 
ance, application and energy, and, with persistency and 
practice, he became at length one of the most per¬ 
suasive and effective of public speakers, extorting the 


181 


Diligence Indispensable . 

disinterested eulogy of even Sir Robert Peel himself. 
A French Ambassador has eloquently said of Mr. Cob- 
den, that he was u a living proof of what merit, perse¬ 
verance, and labor can accomplish; one of the most com¬ 
plete examples of those men who, sprung from the humb¬ 
lest ranks of society, raise themselves to the highest rank 
in public estimation, by the effect of their own worth and 
of their personal services; finally, one of the rarest ex¬ 
amples of the solid qualities inherent in the English char¬ 
acter.” 

In all these cases strenuous individual application was 
the price paid for distinction—excellence of any sort be¬ 
ing invariably placed beyond the reach of indolence. It 
is the diligent hand and head alone that maketh rich— 
in self-culture, growth in wisdom, and in business. Even 
when men are born to wealth and high social position, 
any solid reputation which they may individually achieve 
can only be attained by energetic application; for, 
though an inheritance of acres may be bequeathed, an 
inheritance of knowledge and wisdom can not. The 
wealthy man may pay others for doing his work for 
him, but it is impossible to get his thinking done for 
him by another, or to purchase any kind of self-culture. 
Indeed, the doctrine that excellence in any pursuit is 
only to be achieved by laborious application, holds as 
true in the case of the man of wealth as that of Drew 
and Gifford, whose only school was a cobbler’s stall, or 
Hugh Miller, whose only college was a Cromarty stone 
quarry. 

Riches and ease, it is perfectly clear, are not necessa¬ 
ry for man’s highest culture, else had not the world 



182 


Thomas A. Edison . 


been so largely indebted in all times to those who have 
sprung from the humbler ranks. An easy or luxurious 
existence does not train men to effort or encounter with 
difficulty, nor does it awaken that consciousness of 
power which is so necessary for energetic and effective 
action in life. Indeed, so far from poverty being a mis¬ 
fortune, it may, by vigorous self-help, be converted even 
into a blessing, rousing a man to that struggle with the 
world in which, though some may purchase ease by 
degradation, the right-minded and true-hearted find 
strength, confidence, and triumph. Bacon says, “ Men 
seem neither to understand their riches nor their 
strength: of the former they believe greater things 
than they should; of the latter much less. Self-reli¬ 
ance and self-denial will teach a man to drink out of 
his own cistern, and eat his own sweet bread, and to 
learn and labor truly to get his living, and carefully to 
expend the good things committed to his trust.’ 

A very impressive example of the success to which 
a system of self-help, vigorously pursued, invariably 
leads, is presented in the life of our renowned contempo¬ 
rary, Thomas A. Edison. His parents were poor, and 
he received not more than two months of regular 
schooling, but was taught in the elementary branches 
by his mother. He had a passion for reading, and be¬ 
fore he was 12 years old he had read Gibbons’ “Rome,” 
Hume’s “ England,” and the “Penny Cyclopedia.” He 
also read some books on chemistry in early life, and so 
strong was his thirst for knowledge that at one time he 
resolved to read every book in the public library of 
Detroit. In execution of his purpose he read New- 


Thomas A. Edison. 


183 


ton’s “ Principia,” Ure’s scientific dictionaries, Burton’s 
“ Anatomy of Melancholy,” and other important works. 
He early became a newsboy on the Grand Trunk rail¬ 
way, opposite Detroit. This position gave him the op¬ 
portunity of reading many miscellaneous books. He 
became much interested in chemistry, and put up a 
laboratory in one of the cars; but his enthusiastic efforts 
in this direction were soon brought to an end by an un¬ 
fortunate explosion which came near setting the train 
on fire, and which led the conductor to throw the ap¬ 
paratus and chemicals out of the car. Not content 
with selling papers, Edison next bought some old type 
and began to print, on the cars, a little paper called the 
Grand Trunk Herald. While acting as newsboy he 
got acquainted with the telegraph operators along the 
line and became ambitious to be an operator himself. 
The station master at Mount Clemens Station offered to 
give him the necessary instruction, and for five months 
the young newsboy returned to this point after his day’s 
work and received nightly instruction in telegraphy. 
At the end of this time he was qualified to accept a 
position in the telegraph office at Port Huron. While 
at Adrian, Mich., discharging his duties as operator, he 
spent much time in repairing instruments and at other 
mechanical employments, for which he had made a 
small workshop and furnished it with tools. He soon 
went to Indianapolis, where he invented an automatic 
repeater, by which a message might be transferred from 
one wire to another without the aid of an operator. 
Going in turn to Cincinnati, Memphis, Louisville and 
New Orleans, he returned to Cincinnati in 1867, where, 


184 


Thomas A. Edisori . 


at the age of twenty, he became absorbed in projects 
of invention. He had now become one of the most ex¬ 
pert operators in the service, and was soon put into the 
leading position in the Boston office. Here he fitted 
up a small shop and continued his experiments. In 
1870 he went to Rochester, N. Y., to test between that 
city and Boston the practicability of his invention of 
the duplex telegraph, but the experiment did not prove 
successful. 

He next entered the service of the Gold Indicator 
company in New York, of which he was soon made 
superintendent. Here he introduced improved appa¬ 
ratus, and invented the gold printer and other devices* 
About this time he established in Newark, N. J., a fac¬ 
tory for the purpose of making the machines and appa¬ 
ratus he had invented. About three hundred men 
were employed in this establishment, but the demands 
made on his time by the business left him so little op¬ 
portunity for pursuing his experiments and making in¬ 
ventions that he abandoned the enterprise, and in 1876 
established a shop for experimenting, at Menlo Park, a 
small station on the Pennsylvania railroad, about twen¬ 
ty-four miles from New York. 

Although Mr. Edison is still a very young man, his 
inventions are exceedingly numerous. He has taken 
out several hundred patents. The most wonderful and 
famous of these are the carbon telephone and the phon¬ 
ograph. His micro-tasimeter, designed for detecting 
very slight variations of temperature, was successfully 
used during the total eclipse of the sun in July, 1878, 
to demonstrate the existence of heat in the Corona. 


Thomas A. Edison . 


185 


The aerophone, which has not yet been perfected, is a 
contrivance for amplifying sound. Its purpose is to in¬ 
crease the loudness of words spoken without imparing 
the distinctness of articulation. 

The phonometer is an instrument for measuring the 
mechanical force of sound waves produced by the hu¬ 
man voice. Mr. Edison’s experiments upon the electric 
light are likely soon to result in a complete revolution 
in our present methods of illumination. He has already 
discovered a means for subdividing the electric current 
indefinitely, so as to make the light practicable for 
small areas. 

He has also invented an harmonic engine, with which 
he proposes to use compressed air as a motor for pro¬ 
pelling sewing machines, and other light machinery. 
It is said to be in advance of other electric engines, 
and through its agency, electricity may yet be utilized 
as a motive power. Among Mr. Edison’s other impor¬ 
tant inventions are the electric pen for multiplying 
copies of letters or drawings, and the quadruplex sys¬ 
tem of telegraphy by which four communications may be 
sent in opposite directions over one wire at the same 
time. Both these latter inventions are now extensively 
used. 

Mr. Prescott says of him: “ The great number and 
variety of subjects to which Mr. Edison has given his 
attention is scarcely less surprising than the marked 
success with which his labors have been crowned. Elec¬ 
tricity alone, although receiving the most attention, has 
furnished but a single field for his versatile powers. His 
path has been through extended portions of physics and 


186 


Lord Brougham. 


chemistry, and is clearly marked by characteristic in¬ 
ventions in these vast domains. 

“ Without doubt, Mr. Edison is more than usually 
endowed with what the world terms genius. His in¬ 
tellectual powers are of no ordinary kind, but it should 
be clearly understood that his great success is the re¬ 
sult, not so much of the divine gift of genius alone, as 
of his ceaseless activity and indomitable perseverance 
under all circumstances; these are unquestionably the 
most remarkable characteristics of his nature and the 
real elements of his success. The author can state from 
personal knowledge what is now becoming more gen¬ 
erally known regarding Mr. Edison’s extraordinary 
propensities for work. Very few, if favored with like 
powers of endurance, would be willing to apply them¬ 
selves so assiduously. During the earlier experiments 
with the quadruplex system of telegraphy, which took 
place under his own supervision, and which required a 
vast amount of time and application for its perfection, 
it was a very common thing to find Mr. Edison work¬ 
ing through the entire night, his only rest being such 
as a brief interval of sleep just before day might afford, 
taken in the experimenting rooms. Night after night 
he has worked in this manner, and been found in the 
morning with nothing but his coat for a pillow, and the 
table or desk for his couch.” 

The indefatigable industry of Lord Brougham became 
almost proverbial. His public labors extended over a 
period of upwards of sixty years, during which he 
ranged over many fields—of law, literature, politics, 
and science—and achieved distinction in them all. 


Mr . Disraeli. 


187 


How he contrived it, has been to many a mystery. 
Once, when Sir Samuel Romilly was requested to un 
dertake some new work, he excused himself by saying 
that he had no time; “ but,” he added, u go with it to 
that fellow Brougham; he seems to have time for every 
thing.” The secret of it was, that he never left a 
minute unemployed; withal he possessed a constitution 
of iron. When arrived at an age at which most men 
would have retired from the world to enjoy their hard- 
earned leisure, perhaps to doze away their time in an 
easy-chair, Lord Brougham commenced and prosecuted 
a series of elaborate investigations as to the laws of 
Light, and he submitted the results to the most scien¬ 
tific audiences that Paris and London could muster. 
About the same time, he was passing through the press 
his admirable sketches of the u Men of Science and 
Literature of the Reign of George III.,” and taking his 
full share of the law business and the political discus¬ 
sions in the House of Lords. Sydney Smith once 
recommended him to confine himself to only the trans¬ 
action of so much business as three strong men could 
get through. But such was Brougham’s love of work 
—long become a habit—that no amount of application 
seems to have been too great for him; and such was his 
love of excellence, that it has been said of him that if 
his station in life had been only that of a shoeblack he 
would never have rested satisfied until he had become 
the best shoeblack in England. 

Mr. Disraeli affords a similar instance of the power 
of industry and application in working out an eminent 
public career. His “ Wondrous Tale of Alroy ” and 


188 


Mr. Disraeli . 


“ Revolutionary Epic ” were laughed at, and regarded 
as indications of literary lunacy. But he worked on in 
other directions, and his u Coningsby,” u Sybil,” and 
“ Tancred,” proved the sterling stuff of which he was 
made. As an orator, too, his first appearance in the 
House of Commons was a failure. It was spoken of as 
“ more screaming than an Adelphi farce.” Though 
composed in a grand and ambitious strain, every sen¬ 
tence was hailed with u loud laughter.” “ Hamlet ” 
played as a comedy were nothing to it. But he con¬ 
cluded with a sentence which embodied a prophecy. 
Writhing under the laughter with which his studied 
eloquence had been received, he exclaimed, “ I have 
begun several times many things, and have succeeded 
in them at last. I will sit down now, but the time will 
come when you will hear me.” The time did come; 
and how Disraeli succeeded in at length commanding 
the attention of the first assembly of gentlemen in the 
world, affords a striking illustration of what energy and 
determination will do, for Disraeli earned his position 
by dint of patient industry. He did not, as many young 
men do, having once failed, retire dejected, to mope and 
whine in a corner, but diligently set himself to work. 
He carefully unlearnt his faults, studied the character 
of his audience, practised sedulously the art of speech, 
and industriously filled his mind with the elements of 
parliamentary knowledge. He worked patiently for 
success; and it came, but slowly; then the House 
laughed with him, instead of at him. The recollection 
of his early failure was effaced, and by general consent 
he was at length admitted to be one of the most fin¬ 
ished and effective of parliamentary speakers. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


LEADERS OF INDUSTRY—INVENTORS 
AND PRODUCERS. 


“Who best can suffer best can do.”— Milton. 

“ Deduct all that men of the humbler classes have done for England in the 
way of inventions only, and see where she would have been but for them.’’— 
Arthur Helps. 

NE of the most strongly marked features of the 
English speaking people is their spirit of indus¬ 
try, standing out prominent and distinct in 
their past history, and as strikingly character¬ 
istic of them now as at any former period. It is this 
spirit, which has laid the foundations and built up the 
industrial greatness of our country. This vigorous 
growth of the nation has been mainly the result of the 
free energy of individuals, and it has been contingent 
upon the number of hands and minds from time to time 
actively employed within it, whether as cultivators of 
the soil, producers of articles of utility, contrivers of 
tools and machines, writers of books, or creators of 
works of art. And while this spirit of active industry 
has been the vital principle of the nation,.it has also 
been its saving and remedial one, counteracting from 
time to time the effects of errors in our laws and im¬ 
perfections in our constitution. 






190 


Toil Hie Best School. 


The career of industry which the nation has pursued, 
has also proved its best education. As steady applica¬ 
tion to work is the healthiest training for every indi¬ 
vidual, so is it the best discipline of a state. Honorable 
industry travels the same road with duty; and Provi¬ 
dence has closely linked both with happiness. The gods, 
says the poet, have placed labor and toil on the way 
leading to the Elysian fields. Certain it is that no 
bread eaten by man is so sweet as that earned by his 
own labor, whether bodily or mental. By labor the 
earth has been subdued, and man redeemed from bar¬ 
barism; nor has a single step in civilization been made 
without it. Labor is not only a necessity and a duty, 
but a blessing: only the idler feels it to be a curse. The 
duty of work is written on the thews and muscles of 
the limbs, the mechanism of the hand, the nerves and 
lobes of the brain—the sum of whose health) 7 action is 
satisfaction and enjoyment. In the school of labor is 
taught the best practical wisdom. 

It so happens that the history of Pottery furnishes 
some of the most remarkable instances of patient in¬ 
dustry and perseverance to be found in the whole range 
of biography. 

Though the art of making common vessels of clay 
was known to most of the ancient nations, that of 
manufacturing enamelled earthenware was much 
less common. It was, however, practiced by the an¬ 
cient Etruscans, specimens of whose ware are still to be 
found in antiquarian collections. But it became a lost 
art, and was only recovered at a comparatively recent 
date. The Etruscan ware was very valuable in ancient 


The History of Pottery. 191 

times, a vase being worth its weight in gold in the time 
of Augustus. 

The reviver or re-discoverer of the art of enamelling 
in Italy was Luca della Robbia, a Florentine sculptor. 
Vasari describes him as a man of great perseverance, 
working with his chisel all day and practicing drawing 
during the greater part of the night. He pursued the 
latter art with so much assiduity, that, when working 
late, to prevent his feet from freezing with the cold, he 
was accustomed to provide himself with a basket of 
shavings, in which he placed them, to keep himself 
warm and enable him to proceed with his drawings. 
“ Nor,” says Vasari, “ am I in the least astonished at 
this, since no man ever becomes distinguished in any art 
whatsoever, who does not early begin to acquire the 
power of supporting heat, cold, hunger, thirst, and other 
discomforts; whereas, those persons deceive themselves 
altogether who suppose that, when taking their ease 
and surrounded by all the enjoyments of the world, they 
may still attain to honorable distinction—for it is not by 
sleeping, but by waking, watching, and laboring con¬ 
tinually, that proficiency is attained and reputation ac¬ 
quired.” 

But Luca, notwithstanding all his application and in¬ 
dustry, did not succeed in earning enough money by 
sculpture to enable him to live by the art, and the idea 
occurred to him that he might, nevertheless, be able to 
pursue his modelling in some material more facile and 
less dear than marble. Hence it was that he began to 
make his models in clay, and to endeavor, by experiment, 
so to coat and bake the clay as to render those models 


192 


Bernard Palissy. 


durable. After many trials he at length discovered a 
method of covering the clay with a material which, 
when exposed to the intense heat of a furnace, became 
converted into an almost imperishable enamel. He af¬ 
terwards made the further discovery of a method of im¬ 
parting color to the enamel, thus greatly adding to its 
beauty. 

The fame of Luca’s work extended throughout Eu¬ 
rope, and specimens of his art became widely diffused. 
Many of them were sent into France and Spain, where 
they were greatly prized. At that time coarse brown 
jars were almost the only articles of earthenware pro¬ 
duced in France; and this continued to be the case, 
with comparatively small improvement, until the time 
of Palissy—a man who toiled and fought against stu¬ 
pendous difficulties with a heroism that sheds a glow 
almost of romance over the events of his chequered 
life. 

Bernard Palissy is supposed to have been born in the 
south of France, about the year 1510. His father was 
probably a worker in glass, to which trade Bernard was 
brought up. His parents were poor people—too poor 
to give him the benefit of any school education. “ I 
had no other books,” said he, afterwards, “ than heaven 
and earth, which are open to all.” He learned, howev¬ 
er, the art of glass-painting, to which he added that of 
drawing, and afterwards reading and writing. 

When about eighteen years old, the glass trade be¬ 
coming decayed, Palissy left his father’s house, with his 
wallet on his back, and went out into the world to search 
whether there was any place in it for him. He first trav- 


Search for the Enamel. 


193 


eled towards Gascony, working at his trade where he 
could find employment, and occasionally occupying part 
of his time in land-measuring. Then he traveled north¬ 
wards, sojourning for various periods at different places 
in France, Flanders, and Lower Germany. 

Thus Palissy occupied about ten more years of his life, 
after which he married, and ceased from his wander¬ 
ings, settling down to practice glass-painting and land¬ 
measuring at the small town of Saintes. There chil¬ 
dren were born to him, and, not only his responsibilities, 
but his expenses increased, while, do what he could, his 
earnings remained too small for his needs. It was, 
therefore, necessary for him to bestir himself. Probably 
he felt capable of better things than drudging in an em¬ 
ployment so precarious as glass-painting, and hence he 
was induced to turn his attention to the kindred art of 
painting and enamelling earthenware. Yet, on this sub¬ 
ject he was wholly ignorant, for he had never seen earth 
baked before he began his operations. He had, there¬ 
fore, everything to learn by himself, without any helper. 
But he was full of hope, eager to learn, of unbounded 
perseverance and inexhaustible patience. 

It was the sight of an elegant cup of Italian manu¬ 
facture—most probably one of Luca della Robbia’s 
make—which first set Palissy thinking about the new 
art. A circumstance so apparently insignificant would 
have produced no effect upon an ordinary mind, or even 
upon Palissy himself at an ordinary time; but, occur¬ 
ring, as it did, when he was meditating a change of 
calling, he at once became inflamed with the desire of 
imitating it. The sight of this cup disturbed his whole 
1.3 


194 


Bernard Palissy . 


existence, and the determination to discover the enamel 
with which it was glazed thenceforward possessed him 
like a passion. Had he been a single man he might 
have traveled into Italy in search of the secret; but he 
was bound to his wife and his children, and could not 
leave them; so he remained by their side, groping in 
the dark, in the hope of finding out the process of mak¬ 
ing and enamelling earthenware. 

At first he could merely guess the materials of which 
the enamel was composed, and he proceeded to try all 
manner of experiments to ascertain what they really 
were. He pounded all the substances which he sup¬ 
posed were likely to produce it. Then he bought com¬ 
mon earthen pots, broke them into pieces, and, spread¬ 
ing his compounds over them, subjected them to the 
heat of a furnace which he erected for the purpose of 
baking them. His experiments failed, and the results 
were broken pots and a waste of fuel, drugs, time, and 
labor. Women do not readily sympathize with experi¬ 
ments whose only tangible effect is to dissipate the 
means of buying clothes and food for their children; 
and Palissy’s wife, however dutiful in other respects, 
could not be reconciled to the purchase of more earth¬ 
en pots, which seemed to her to be bought only to be 
broken. Yet she must needs submit, for Palissy had 
become thoroughly possessed by the determination to 
master the secret of the enamel, and would not let it 
alone. 

For many successive months and years Palissy pur¬ 
sued his experiments. The first furnace having proved 
a failure, he proceeded to erect another out of doors. 


Search for the Enamel . 


195 


There he burnt more wood, spoiled more drugs and 
pots, and lost more time, until poverty stared him and 
his family in the face. u Thus,” said he, u I fooled away 
several years, with sorrow and sighs, because I could 
not at all arrive at my intention.” In the intervals of 
his experiments he occasionally worked at his former 
callings—painting on glass, drawing portraits, and meas¬ 
uring land; but his earnings from these sources were 
very small. At length he was no longer able to carry 
on his experiments in his own furnace because of the 
heavy cost of fuel; but he bought more potsherds, broke 
them up as before into three or four foundred pieces, 
and, covering them with chemicals, carried them to a 
tile-work a league and a half distant from Saintes, there 
to be baked in an ordinary furnace. After the opera¬ 
tion he went to see the pieces taken out, and, to his dis 
may, the whole of the experiments were failures. But, 
though disappointed, he was not yet defeated, for he de¬ 
termined on the very spot to “ begin afresh.” 

His business as a land-measurer called him away for 
a brief season from the pursuit of his experiments. In 
conformity with an edict of the State, it became neces¬ 
sary to survey the salt-marshes in the neighborhood of 
Saintes for the purpose of levying the land-tax. Palissy 
was employed to make this survey, and prepare the req¬ 
uisite map. The work occupied him some time, and 
he was doubtless well paid for it; but no sooner was it 
completed than he proceeded, with redoubled zeal, to 
follow up his old investigations “ in the track of the 
enamels.” He began by breaking three dozen new 
earthen pots, the pieces of which he covered with dif- 


196 


Bernard Palissy, 


ferent materials which he had compounded, and then 
took them to a neighboring glass-furnace to be baked. 
The results gave him a glimmer of hope. The greater 
heat of the glass-furnace had melted some of the com¬ 
pounds, but though Palissy searched diligently for the 
white enamel he could find none. 

For two more years he went on experimenting with¬ 
out any satisfactory result, until the proceeds of his sur¬ 
vey of the salt marshes having become nearly spent, 
he was reduced to poverty again. But he resolved to 
make a last great effort; and he began by breaking 
more pots than ever. More than three hundred pieces 
of pottery covered with his compounds were sent to the 
glass-furnace, and thither he himself went to watch the 
results of the baking. Four hours passed, during which 
he watched, and then the furnace was opened. The 
material on one only of the three hundred pieces of 
potsherd had melted, and it was taken out to cool. As 
it hardened it grew white—white and polished! The 
piece of potsherd was covered with white enamel, de¬ 
scribed by Palissy as “singularly beautiful!” And 
beautiful it must no doubt have been in his eyes after 
all his weary waiting. He ran home with it to his 
wife, feeling himself, as he expressed it, quite a new 
creature. But the prize was not yet won—far from it. 
The partial success of this intended last effort merely 
had the effect of luring him on to a succession of fur¬ 
ther experiments and failures. 

In order that he might complete the invention, which 
he now believed to be at hand, he resolved to build for 
himself a glass-furnace near his dwelling, where he 


His Desperate Determination . 197 

might carry on his operations in secret. He proceeded 
to build the furnace with his own hands, carrying the 
bricks from the brickfield upon his back. He was 
bricklayer, laborer and all. From seven to eight more 
months passed. At last the furnace was built and 
ready for use. Palissy had in the mean time fashioned 
a number of vessels of clay in readiness for the laying 
on of the enamel. After being subjected to a prelimi¬ 
nary process of baking, they were covered with the en¬ 
amel compound, and again placed in the furnace for 
the grand crucial experiment. Although his means 
were nearly exhausted, Palissy had been for some time 
accumulating a great store of fuel for the final effort, 
and he thought it was enough. At last the fire was lit, 
and the operation proceeded. All day he sat by the 
furnace, feeding it with fuel. He sat there watching 
and feeding all through the long night. But the ena¬ 
mel did not melt. The sun rose upon his labors. His 
wife brought him a portion of the scanty morning meal 
—for he would not stir from the furnace, into which he 
continued from time to time to heave more fuel. The 
second day passed, and still the enamel did not melt* 
The sun set and another night passed. The pale, hag¬ 
gard, unshorn, baffled, yet not beaten Palissy sat by 
his furnace eagerly looking for the melting of the ena¬ 
mel. A third day and night passed—a fourth, a fifth, 
and even a sixth—yes, for six long days and nights did 
the unconquerable Palissy watch and toil, fighting 
against hope; and still the enamel would not melt. 

It then occurred to him that there might be some de¬ 
fect in the materials for the enamel—perhaps something 


198 


Bernard Palissy . 


wanting in the flux; so he set to work to pound and 
compound fresh materials for a new experiment. Thus 
two or three more weeks passed. But how to buy 
more pots? For those which he had made with his 
own hands for the purpose of the first experiment were 
by long baking irretrievably spoiled for the purposes of 
a second. His money was now all spent; but he could 
borrow. His character was still good, though his wife 
and the neighbors thought him foolishly wasting his 
means in futile experiments. Nevertheless he succeeded. 
He borrowed sufficient from a friend to enable him to 
buy more fuel and more pots, and he was again ready 
for a further experiment. The pots were covered with 
the new compound, placed in the furnace, and the fire 
was again lit. 

It was the last and most desperate experiment of the 
whole. The fire blazed up; the heat became intense; 
but still the enamel did not melt. The fuel began to 
run short! How to keep up the fire? There were 
the garden palings; these would burn. They must be 
sacrificed rather than that the great experiment should 
fail. The garden palings were pulled up and cast into 
the furnace. They were burnt in vain! The enamel 
had not yet melted. Ten minutes more heat might do 
it. Fuel must be had at whatever cost. There re¬ 
mained the household furniture and shelving. A crash¬ 
ing noise was heard in the house, and amidst the 
screams of his wife and children, who now feared Pa- 
lissy’s reason was giving way, the tables were seized, 
broken up and heaved into the furnace. The enamel 
had not melted yet! There remained the shelving. 


Discovers the Enamel . 


199 


Another noise of the wrenching of timber was heard 
within the house, and the shelves were torn down and 
hurled after the furniture into the fire. Wife and chil¬ 
dren then rushed from the house, and went frantically 
through the town, calling out that poor Palissy had 
gone mad, and was breaking up his very furniture for 
firewood. 

For an entire month his shirt had not been off his 
back, and he was utterly worn out—wasted with toil, 
anxiety, watching and want of food. He was in debt* 
and seemed on the verge of ruin. But he had at length 
mastered the secret, for the last great burst of heat had 
melted the enamel. The common brown household 
jars, when taken out of the furnace after it had become 
cool, were found covered with a white glaze. For this 
he could endure reproach, contumely and scorn, and 
wait patiently for the opportunity of putting his discove¬ 
ry into practice as better days came round. 

Palissy next hired a potter to make some earthen 
vessels after the designs which he furnished, while he 
himself proceeded to model some medallions in clay for 
the purpose of enamelling them. But how to maintain 
himself and his family until the wares were made and 
ready for sale? Fortunately there remained one man 
in Saintes who still believed in the integrity, if not in 
the judgment, of Palissy—an inn-keeper, who agreed to 
feed and lodge him for six months, while he went on 
with his manufacture. As for the working potter 
whom he had hired, Palissy soon found that he could 
not pay him the stipulated wages. Having already 
stripped his dwelling, he could but strip himself; and 


200 


Bernard Palissy . 


he accordingly parted with some of his clothes to the 
potter, in part payment of the wages which he owed 
him. 

Palissy next erected an improved furnace, but he was 
so unfortunate as to build part of the inside with flints. 
When it was heated these flints cracked and burst, and 
the spinculse were scattered over the pieces of pottery, 
sticking to them. Though the enamel came out right, 
the work was irretrievably spoilt, and thus six more 
months’ labor was lost. Persons were found willing to 
buy the articles at a low price, notwithstanding the in¬ 
jury they had sustained; but Palissy would not sell 
them, considering that to have done so would be to 
“ decry and abase his honor;” and so he broke in pieces 
the entire batch. “ Nevertheless,” says he, u hope con¬ 
tinued to inspire me, and I held on manfully; some¬ 
times, when visitors called, I entertained them with 
pleasantry, while I was really sad at heart.” 

At this stage of his affairs Palissy became melan¬ 
choly and almost hopeless, and seems to have all but 
broken down. Pie wandered gloomily about the fields 
near Saintes, his clothes hanging in tatters, and himself 
worn to a skeleton. In a curious passage in his writ¬ 
ings he describes how. that the calves of his legs had 
disappeared, and were no longer able with the help of 
garters to hold up his stockings, which fell about his 
heels when he walked. The family continued to re¬ 
proach him for his recklessness, and his neighbors cried 
shame upon him for his obstinate folly. So he returned 
for a time to his former calling; and after a year’s dili¬ 
gent labor, during which he earned bread for his house- 


201 


Perfects the Enamel . 

hold, and somewhat recovered his character among his 
neighbors, he again resumed his darling enterprise. But, 
though he had already spent about ten years in the 
search for the enamel, it cost him nearly eight more 
years of experimental plodding before he perfected his 
invention. He gradually learnt dexterity and certainty 
of result by experience, gathering practical knowledge 
out of many failures. Every mishap was a fresh lesson 
to him, teaching him something new about the nature of 
enamels, the qualities of argillaceous earths, the temper¬ 
ing of clays, and the construction and management of 
furnaces. 

At last, after about sixteen years labor, Palissy took 
heart, and called himself Potter. These sixteen years 
had been his term of apprenticeship to the art, during 
which he had wholly to teach himself, beginning at the 
very beginning. He was now able to sell his wares, and 
thereby maintain his family in comfort. But he never 
rested satisfied with what he had accomplished. He pro¬ 
ceeded from one step of improvement to another, always 
aiming at the greatest perfection possible. He studied 
natural objects for patterns, and with such success that the 
great Buffon spoke of him as “ so great a naturalist as Na¬ 
ture only can produce.” His ornamental pieces are now 
regarded as rare gems, and sell at almost fabulous prices. 
The ornaments on them are, for the most part, accurate 
models from life, of wild animals, lizards, and plants, found 
in the fields about Saintes, and tastefully combined as or¬ 
naments into the texture of a plate or a vase. 

We have not, however, come to an end of the suffer¬ 
ings of Palissy, respecting which a few words remain to 


202 


Palissy , the Potter . 


be said. Being a Protestant, at a time when religious 
persecution waxed hot in the south of France, and ex¬ 
pressing his views without fear, he was regarded as a 
dangerous heretic. His enemies having informed against 
him, his house at Saintes was entered by the officers 
of “justice,” and his workshop was thrown open to 
the rabble, who entered and smashed his pottery, while 
he himself was hurried off by night and cast into a dun¬ 
geon at Bordeaux, to wait his turn at the stake or the 
scaffold. He was condemned to be burnt, but a power¬ 
ful noble, the Constable de Montmorency, interposed to 
save his life—not because he had any special regard for 
Palissy or his religion, but because no other artist could 
be found capable of executing the enamelled pavement 
for his magnificent dwelling, then in course of erection 
at Ecouen, near Paris. He was liberated, and returned 
to his home at Saintes, only to find it devastated and 
broken up. His workshop was open to the sky, and his 
works lay in ruins. Shaking the dust of Saintes from 
his feet he left the place never to return to it, and re¬ 
moved to Paris to carry on the works ordered of him 
by the Constable and the Queen-Mother. 

Besides carrying on the manufacture of pottery, with 
the aid of his two sons, Palissy, during the latter part 
of his life, wrote and published several books on the 
potter’s art, with a view to the instruction of his coun¬ 
trymen, and in order that they might avoid the many 
mistakes which he himself had made. He also wrote 
on agriculture, on fortification, and natural history, on 
which latter subject he even delivered lectures to a 
limited number of persons. He waged war against 


His Indomitable Spirit. 


203 


astrology, alchemy, witchcraft, and like impostures. 
This stirred up against him many enemies, who pointed 
the finger at him as a heretic, and he was again arrested 
for his religion and imprisoned in the Bastile. He was 
now an old man of seventy-eight, trembling on the 
verge of the grave, but his spirit was as brave as ever. 
He was threatened with death unless he recanted; but 
he was as obstinate in holding to his religion as he had 
been in hunting out the secret of the enamel. The 
king, Henry III., even went to see him in prison to in¬ 
duce him to abjure his faith. u My good man,” said 
the King, u you have now served my mother and my¬ 
self for forty-five years. We have put up with your 
adhering to your religion amidst fires and massacres: 
now I am so pressed by the Guise party as well as by 
my own people, that I am constrained to leave you in 
the hands of your enemies, and to-morrow you will be 
burnt unless you become converted.” “ Sire,” answered 
the unconquerable old man, “ I am ready to give my 
life for the glory of God. You have said many times 
that you have pity on me; and now I have pity on you, 
who have pronounced the words I am constrained! It 
is not spoken like a king; it is what you, and those who 
constrain you, can never effect upon me, for I know how 
to die.” Palissy did indeed die shortly after, a martyr, 
though not at the stake. He died in the Bastile, after 
enduring about a year’s imprisonment—there peacefully 
terminating a life distinguished for heroic labor, extra¬ 
ordinary endurance, inflexible rectitude, and the exhi¬ 
bition of many rare and noble virtues. 


204 Josiah Wedgwood . 

The career of Josiah Wedgwood, the English potter y 
was less chequered and more prosperous than that of 
Palissy, and his lot was cast in happier times. Down 
to the middle of last century England was behind most 
other nations of the first order in Europe in respect of 
skilled industry. Although there were many potters 
in Staffordshire, their productions were of the rudest 
kind, for the most part only plain brown ware, with the 
patterns scratched in while the clay was wet. 

Josiah Wedgwood was one of those industrious men 
who from time to time spring from the ranks of the 
common people, and by their energetic character not 
only practically educate the working population in 
habits of industry, but by the example of diligence and 
perseverance which they set before them, largely influ¬ 
ence the public activity in all directions, and contribute 
in a great degree to form the national character. He 
was, like Arkwright, the youngest of a family of thir¬ 
teen children. His grandfather and grand-uncle were 
both potters, as was also his father, who died when he 
was a mere boy, leaving him a patrimony of twenty 
pounds. He had learned to read and write, at the vil¬ 
lage school; but on the death of his father he was taken 
from it and set to work as a “ thrower ” in a small pot¬ 
tery carried on by his elder brother. There he began 
life, his working life, to use his own words, “ at the low¬ 
est round of the ladder,” when only eleven years old. 
He was shortly after seized by an attack of virulent 
smallpox, from the effects of which he suffered during 
the rest of his life, for it was followed by a disease in the 


Learns the Pottery Trade . 


205 


right knee, which recurred at frequent intervals, and 
was only got rid of by the amputation of the limb many 
years later. 

When he had completed his apprenticeship with his 
brother, Josiah joined partnership with another work¬ 
man, and carried on a small business in making knife- 
hafts, boxes, and sundry articles for domestic use; but 
he made comparatively little progress until he began 
business on his own account at Burslem. There he 
diligently pursued his calling, introducing new articles 
to the trade, and gradually extending his business. 
What he chiefly aimed at was to manufacture cream- 
colored ware of a better quality than was then produced 
in Staffordshire as regarded shape, color, glaze, and 
durability. To understand the subject thoroughly, he 
devoted his leisure to the study of chemistry; and he 
made numerous experiments on fluxes, glazes, and va¬ 
rious sorts of clay. Being a close inquirer and accurate 
observer, he noticed that a certain earth containing 
silica, which was black before calcination, became white 
after exposure to the heat of a furnace. This fact, ob¬ 
served and pondered on, led to the idea of mixing silica 
with the red powder of the potteries, and to the dis¬ 
covery that the mixture becomes white when calcined. 
He had but to cover this material with a vitrification 
of transparent glaze, to obtain one of the most import¬ 
ant products of fictile art—that which, under the name 
of English earthenware, was to attain the greatest 
commercial value and become of the most extensive 
utility.. 

Wedgwood was for some time much troubled by his 


206 


Josiah Wedgwood. 

furnaces, though nothing like to the same extent that 
Palissy was; and he overcame his difficulties in the 
same way—by repeated experiments and unfaltering 
perseverance. His first attempts at making porcelain 
for table use were a succession of disastrous failures— 
the labors of months being often destroyed in a day* 
It was only after a long series of trials, in the course of 
which he lost time, money, and labor, that he arrived 
at the proper sort of glaze to be used; but he would 
not be denied, and at last he conquered success through 
patience. The improvement of pottery became his 
passion, and was never lost sight of for a moment. 
Even when he had mastered his difficulties, and become 
a prosperous man—manufacturing white stone ware 
and cream-colored ware in large quantities for home 
and foreign use—he went forward perfecting his manu¬ 
factures, until, his example extending in all directions* 
the action of the entire district was stimulated, and a 
great branch of British industry was eventually estab¬ 
lished on firm foundations. He aimed throughout at 
the highest excellence, declaring his determination “ to 
give over manufacturing any article, whatsoever it 
might be, rather than to degrade it.” 

Wedgwood called to his aid the crucible of the chem¬ 
ist, the knowledge of the antiquary, and the skill of the 
artist. He found out Flaxman when a youth, and while 
he liberally nurtured his genius, drew from him a large 
number of beautiful designs for his pottery and porce¬ 
lain; converting them by his manufacture into objects 
of taste and excellence, and thus making them instrumen¬ 
tal in the diffusion of art among the people. By care- 


The Pottery Manufacture . 207 

ful experiment and study he was even enabled to redis¬ 
cover the art of painting on porcelain or earthenware 
vases and similar articles—an art practiced by the an¬ 
cient Etruscans, but which had been lost since the time 
of Pliny. 

The result of Wedgewood’s labors was, that the man¬ 
ufacture of pottery, which he found in the very lowest 
condition, became one of the staples of England; and, 
instead of importing what we needed for home use from 
abroad, England became a large exporter to other coun¬ 
tries, supplying them with earthenware even in the face 
of enormous prohibitory duties on articles of British 
produce. 

Wedgwood gave evidence as to his manufacture be¬ 
fore Parliament in 1785, only some thirty years after he 
had begun his operations; from which it appeared that, 
instead of providing only casual employment to a small 
number of inefficient and badly remunerated workmen, 
about 20,000 persons then derived their bread directly 
from the manufacture of earthenware, without taking 
into account the increased numbers to which it gave 
employment in coal mines, and in the carrying trade by 
land and sea, and the stimulus which it gave to em¬ 
ployment in many ways in various parts of the coun¬ 
try. 

Yet, important as had been the advances made in 
his time, Mr. Wedgwood was of the opinion that the 
manufacture was but in its infancy, and that the im¬ 
provements which he had effected were but of small 
moment compared with those to which the art was ca¬ 
pable of attaining, through the continued industry and 


208 


The Cotton Manufacture . 


growing intelligence of the manufacturers, and the nat¬ 
ural facilities and political advantages enjoyed by Great 
Britain; an opinion which has been fully borne out by 
the progress which has since been effected in this im¬ 
portant branch of industry. 

In 1852 not fewer than 84,000,000 pieces of pottery 
were exported from England to other countries, besides 
what were made for home use. But it is not merely 
the quantity and value of the produce that is entitled 
to consideration, but the improvement of the condition 
of the population by whom this great branch of indus¬ 
try is conducted. 

When Wedgwood began his labors the Stafford¬ 
shire district was only in a half-civilized state. The 
people were poor, uncultivated, and few in number. 
When Wedgwood’s manufacture was firmly established 
there was found ample employment, at good wages, for 
three times the number of population; while their moral 
advancement had kept pace with their material im¬ 
provement. 

Men such as these are fairly entitled to take rank as 
the Industrial fleroes of the civilized world. Their pa¬ 
tient self-reliance amidst trials and difficulties, their cour¬ 
age and perseverance in the pursuit of worthy objects, 
are not less heroic than the bravery and devotion of the 
soldier and the sailor. 

One of the first grand results of Watt’s invention— 
which placed an almost unlimited power at the com¬ 
mand of the producing classes—was the establishment 
of the cotton manufacture. The person most closely 
identified with the foundation of this great branch of 


Richard A rkw right, Barber . 209 

industry was unquestionably Sir Richard Arkright, 
whose practical energy and sagacity were perhaps even * 
more remarkable than his mechanical inventiveness. 

Arkright, like most of aur great mechanicians, sprang 
from the ranks. He was born in Preston in 1732. His 
parents were very poor, and he was the yongest of thir¬ 
teen children. He was never at school. The only ed¬ 
ucation he received he gave to himself, and to the last 
he was only able to write with difficulty. When a 
boy he was apprenticed to a barber, and after learning 
the business, he set up for himself in Bolton, where he 
occupied an underground cellar, over which he put up 
the sign, “ Come to the subterraneous barber—he 
shaves for a penny.” The other barbers found their 
customers leaving them, and reduced their prices to his 
standard, when Arkwright, determined to push his trade, 
announced his determination to give a clean shave for a 
half-penny.” After a few years he quitted his cellar, and 
became an itinerent dealer in hair. At that time wigs 
were worn, and wig-making formed an important branch 
of the barbering business. Arkwright went about buy¬ 
ing hair for the wigs. He was accustomed to attend the 
hiring-fairs throughout Lancashire resorted to by young 
women, for the purpose of securing their long tresses; 
and it is said that in negotiations of this sort he was 
very successful. He also dealt in a chemical hair-dye, 
which he used adroitly, and thereby secured a consid¬ 
erable trade. But he does not seem, notwithstanding 
his pushing character, to have done more than earn a 
bare living. 

The fashion of wig-wearing having undergone a 

14 


*210 Richard Arkwright, Inventor. 

change, distress fell upon the wig-makers, and Ark- 
‘wright, being of a mechanical turn, was consequently 
induced to turn machine inventor or “ conjurer,” as the 
pursuit was then popularly termed. Many attempts 
were made about that time to invent a spinning-ma¬ 
chine, and our barber determined to launch his little 
bark on the sea of invention with the rest. Like other 
self-taught men of the same bias, he had already been 
devoting his spare time to the invention of a perpetual- 
motion machine, and from that the transition to a spin¬ 
ning machine was easy. He followed his experiments 
so assiduously that he neglected his business, lost the 
little money he had saved, and was reduced to great 
poverty. His wife, for he had by this time married, 
was impatient at what she conceived to be a wanton 
waste of time and money, and in a moment of sudden 
wrath she seized upon and destroyed his models, hoping 
thus to remove the cause of the family privations. Ark¬ 
wright was a stubborn and enthusiastic man, and he 
was provoked beyond measure by this conduct of his 
wife, from whom he immediately separated. 

In traveling about the country, Arkwright had be¬ 
come acquainted with a person named Kay, a clock- 
maker at Warrington, who assisted him in constructing 
some of the parts of his perpetual-motion machinery. 
It is supposed that he was informed by Kay of the 
principle of spinning by rollers, but it is also said that 
the idea was first suggested to him by accidentally ob¬ 
serving a red-hot piece of iron become elongated by 
passing between iron rollers. However this may be, 
the idea at once took firm possession of his mind, and 


R icliard A view right, Inventor . 211 

he proceeded to devise the process by which it was to 
be accomplished. Arkwright now abandoned his busi¬ 
ness of hair-collecting, and devoted himself to the per¬ 
fecting of his machine, a model of which, constructed by 
Kay under his directions, he set up in the parlor of the 
Free Grammer school at Preston. Being a burgess of 
the town, he voted at the contested election at which 
General Burgoyne was returned; but such was his pov¬ 
erty, and such the tattered state of his dress, that a 
number of persons subscribed a sum sufficient to have 
him put in a state fit to appear in the poll-room. The 
exhibition of his machine in a town where so many work¬ 
people lived by the exercise of manual labor proved a 
dangerous experiment; ominous growlings were heard 
outside the school-room from time to time, and Ark¬ 
wright — remembering the fate of Kay, who was 
mobbed and compelled to fly from Lancashire because 
of his invention of the fly-shuttle, and of poor Har¬ 
greaves, whose spinning-jenny had been pulled to pieces 
only a short time before by a Blackburn mob—wisely 
determined on packing up his model and removing to a 
less dangerous locality. He went accordingly to Not¬ 
tingham, where he applied to some of the local bankers 
for pecuniary assistance, and the Messrs. Wright con¬ 
sented to advance him a sum of money on condition of 
sharing in the profits of the invention. The machine, 
however, not being perfected so soon as they had an¬ 
ticipated, the bankers recommended Arkwright to ap¬ 
ply to Messrs. Strutt and Need, the former of whom 
was the ingenious inventor and patentee of the stocking- 
frame. Mr. Strutt at once appreciated the merits of 


212 Richard Arkwright , Manufacturer . 

the invention, and a partnership was entered into with 
Arkwright, whose road to fortune was now clear. The 
patent was secured in the name of “ Richard Arkwright, 
of Nottingham, clockmaker,” and it is a circumstance 
worthy of note, that it was taken out in 1769, the same 
year in which Watt secured the patent for his steam 
engine. A cotton-mill was first erected at Nottingham, 
driven by horses, and another was shortly after built, 
on a much larger scale, turned by a water-wheel, from 
which circumstance the spinning machine came to be 
called the water-frame. 

Arkwright’s labors, however, were, comparatively 
speaking, only begun. He had still to perfect all the 
working details of his machine. It was in his hands 
the subject of constant modification and improvement, 
until eventually it was rendered practicable and profit¬ 
able in an eminent degree. But success was only se¬ 
cured by long and patient labor; for some years, in¬ 
deed, the speculation was disheartening and unprofita¬ 
ble, swallowing up a very large amount of capital with¬ 
out any result. When success began to appear more 
certain, then the Lancashire manufacturers fell upon 
Arkwright’s patent to pull it in pieces, as the Cornish 
miners fell upon Boulton and Watt to rob them of the 
profits of their steam engine. Arkwright was even de¬ 
nounced as the enemy of the working people, and a 
mill which he built near Chorley was destroyed by a 
mob in the presence of a strong force of police and mil¬ 
itary. The Lancashire men refused to buy his materi¬ 
als, though they were confessedly the best in the mar¬ 
ket. Then they refused to pay patentright for the use 


Richard Arkwright , Manufacturer . 213 

of his machine, and combined to crush him in the 
courts of law. To the disgust of right-minded people, 
Arkwright’s patent was upset. After the trial, when 
passing the hotel at which his opponents were staying, 
one of them said, loud enough to be heard by him, 
“well, we’ve done the old shaver at last;” to which he 
coolly replied, “ never mind, I’ve a razor left that will 
shave you all.” He established new mills in Lanca¬ 
shire, Derbyshire, and at New Lanark, in Scotland. 
The mills of Cromford also came into his hands at the 
expiration of his partnership with Strutt, and the 
amount and the excellence of his products were such, 
that in a short time he obtained so complete a control 
of the trade that the prices were fixed by him, and 
he governed the main operations of the other cotton- 
spinners. 

Arkwright was a man of great force of character, 
indomitable courage, much worldly shrewdness, with a 
business faculty almost amounting to genius. At one 
period his time was engrossed by severe and continuous 
labor, occasioned by the organizing and conducting of 
his numerous manufactories, sometimes from four in 
the morning till nine at night. At fifty years of age 
he set to work to learn English grammar, and'improve 
himself in writing and orthography. After overcom¬ 
ing every obstacle, he had the satisfaction of reaping 
the reward of his enterprise. Eighteen years after he 
had constructed his first machine, he rose to such esti¬ 
mation in Derbyshire that he was appointed High 
Sheriff of the county, and shortly after George III. con¬ 
ferred upon him the honor of knighthood. He died in 


214 


Willia?n Lee. 


1792. Arkwright was the founder of the modern fac¬ 
tory system, a branch of industry which has unques¬ 
tionably proved a source of immense wealth to individ¬ 
uals and to the nation. 

Among other distinguished founders of industry, the 
Rev. William Lee, inventor of the Stocking-frame, and 
John Heathcoat, inventor of the Bobbin-net Machine, 
are worthy of notice, as men of great mechanical skill 
and perseverance, through whose labors a vast amount 
of remunerative employment has been provided. Wil¬ 
liam Lee was born about the year 1563. He was a 
poor scholar, and had to struggle with poverty from 
his earliest years. 

At the time when Lee invented the Stocking-frame 
he was officiating as curate of Calverton, near Notting¬ 
ham, and it is alleged, that being married and poor, 
his wife was under the necessity of contributing to their 
joint support by knitting; and that Lee, while watching 
the motion of his wife’s fingers, conceived the idea of 
imitating their movements by a machine. For three 
years he devoted himself to the prosecution of the in¬ 
vention, sacrificing every thing to his new idea. As 
the prospect of success opened before him, he aban¬ 
doned his curacy, and devoted himself to the art of 
stocking making by machinery. 

Whatever may have been the actual facts as to the 
origin of the invention of the Stocking-loom, there can 
be no doubt as to the extraordinary mechanical genius 
displayed by its inventor. That a clergyman living in 
a remote village, whose life had for the most part been 
spent with books, should contrive a machine of such 


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Invention of the Stocking-loom . 215 

delicate and complicated movements, and at once ad¬ 
vance the art of knitting from the tedious process of 
linking threads in a chain of loops by three needles in 
the fingers of a woman, to the beautiful and rapid pro¬ 
cess of weaving by the stocking frame, was indeed an 
astonishing achievement, which may be pronounced 
almost unequalled in the history of mechanical inven¬ 
tion. Lee’s merit was all the greater, as the handicraft 
arts were then in their infancy, and little attention had 
as yet been given to the contrivance of machinery for 
the purposes of manufacture. He was under the neces¬ 
sity of extemporising the parts of his machine as he 
best could, and adopting various expedients to overcome 
difficulties as they arose. His tools were imperfect, 
and his materials were imperfect; and he had no skilled 
workmen to assist him. The first frame he made was 
a twelve guage, without lead sinkers, and it was almost 
wholly of wood; the needles being also stuck in bits of 
wood. One of Lee’s principal difficulties consisted in 
the formation of the stitch, for want of needle eyes; 
but this he eventually overcame by forming eyes to the 
needles with a three-square file. At length, one diffi¬ 
culty after another was successfully overcome, and after 
three years’ labor the machine was sufficiently com¬ 
plete to be fit for use. The quondam curate, full of 
enthusiasm for his art, now began stocking-weaving in 
the village of Calverton, and he continued to work 
there for several years, instructing his brother James 
and several of his relations in the practice of the art. 

Having brought his frame to a considerable degree 
of perfection, and being desirous of securing the patro- 


216 


William Lee . 


nage of Queen Elizabeth, whose partiality for knitted 
silk stockings was well known, Lee proceeded to Lon¬ 
don to exhibit the Loom before her Majesty. He first 
showed it to several members of the court, and was, 
through their instrumentality, at length adpiitted to an 
interview with the Queen, and worked the machine in 
her presence. Elizabeth, however, did not give him the 
encouragement that he had expected; and she is said 
to have opposed the invention on the ground that it was 
calculated to deprive a large number of poor people 
of their employment of hand-knitting. Lee was no more 
successful in finding other patrons; and, considering 
himself and his invention treated with contempt, he em¬ 
braced the offer made to him by Sully, the sagacious 
minister of Henry IV., to proceed to Rouen and in¬ 
struct the operatives of that town in the construction 
and use of the stocking-frame. Lee accordingly trans¬ 
ferred himself and his machines to France, in 1605, tak¬ 
ing with him his brother and seven workmen. He met 
with a cordial reception at Rouen, and was proceeding 
with the manufacture of stockings on a large scale, when 
unhappity, misfortune again overtook him. Henry IV., 
his protector, on whom he relied for the rewards, honors, 
and promised grant of privileges, which had induced 
Lee to settle in France, was murdered by the fanatic 
Ravaillac, and the encouragement and protection which 
had heretofore been extended to him were at once with¬ 
drawn. To press his claims at court, Lee proceeded to 
Paris; but, being a Protestant as well as a foreigner, 
his representations were treated with neglect; and, worn 
out with vexation and grief, this distinguished inventor 


John Heatlicoat. 217 

shortly after died at Paris, in a state of extreme pov¬ 
erty and distress. 

Lee’s brother, with seven of the workmen, succeeded 
in escaping from France with their frames, leaving two 
behind. On James Lee’s return to Nottinghamshire, he 
was joined by one Ashton, a miller of Thornton, who 
had been instructed in the art of framework knitting 
by the inventor himself hefore he left England. These 
two, with the workmen and their frames, began the 
stocking manufacture at Thornton, and carried it on 
with considerable success. The place was favorably 
situated for the purpose, as the sheep pastured in the 
neighboring district of Sherwood yielded a kind of wool 
of the longest staple. The number of looms employed 
in different parts of England gradually increased; and 
the machine manufacture of stockings eventually be¬ 
came an important branch of the national industry. 

John Heathcoat was the son of a cottage farmer at 
Long Whalton, Leicestershire, where he was born in 
1784. He was taught to read and write at the village 
school, but was shortly removed from it to be put ap¬ 
prentice to a framesmith in a neighboring village. The 
boy soon learnt to handle tools with dexterity, and he 
acquired a minute knowledge of the parts of which the 
stocking-frame was composed, as well as of the more 
intricate warp-machine. t At his leisure he studied how 
to introduce improvements in them, and his friend, Mr. 
Bazley, M. P., states that as early as the age of six¬ 
teen he conceived the idea of inventing a machine by 
which lace might be made similar to Buckingham or 
French lace, then all made by hand. The first practi- 


218 


John Heathcot. 


cal improvement he succeeded in introducing was in the 
warp-frame, when, by means of an ingenious apparatus, 
he succeeded in producing “ mitts ” of a lacey appear¬ 
ance; and it was this success which determined him to 
pursue the study of mechanical lace-making. 

When a little over twenty-one years of age Heathcoat 
married, and went to Nottingham in search of work. 
He there found employment as a smith and “ setter-up ” 
of hosiery and warp-frames. He also continued to pur¬ 
sue the subject on which his mind had before been oc¬ 
cupied. It was a long and laborious task, requiring the 
exercise of great perseverance and no little ingenuity. 
His master, Elliott, described him at that time as 
plodding, patient, self-denying, and taciturn, undaunted 
by failures and mistakes, full of resources and expedi¬ 
ents, and entertaining the most perfect confidence that 
his application of mechanical principles would eventual¬ 
ly be crowned with success. During this time his wife 
was kept in almost as great anxiety as himself. She 
well knew of his struggles and difficulties, and she began 
to feel the pressure of poverty on her household; for, 
while he was laboring at his invention, he was frequent¬ 
ly under the necessity of laying aside the work that 
brought in the weekly wages. 

Many years after, when all difficulties had been suc¬ 
cessfully overcome, the conversation which took place 
between husband and wife one eventful Saturday 
evening was vividly remembered. “ Well, John,” said 
the anxious wife, looking in her husband’s face, 
“will it work?” “No, Anne,” was the sad answer, 
“I have had to take it all in pieces again.” Though 


The Bobbin- 7 iet Machine, 219 

he could still speak hopefully and cheerfully, his poor 
wife could restrain her feelings no longer, but sat 
down and cried bitterly. She had, however, only a few 
more weeks to wait; for success, long labored for and 
richly deserved, came at last; and a proud and happy 
man was John Heathcoat when he brought home the 
first narrow strip of bobbin-net made by his machine, 
and placed it in the hands of his wife. 

It is difficult to describe in words an invention so com¬ 
plicated as the bobbin-net machine. It was indeed a 
mechanical pillow for making lace; imitating in an in¬ 
genious manner the motions of the lace-maker’s fingers 
in intersecting or tying the meshes of the lace upon her 
pillow. Long after, he said: “ The single difficulty of 
getting the diagonal threads to twist in the allotted 
space was so great, that if it had now to be done, I 
should probably not attempt its accomplishment.” At 
the age of twenty-four he was enabled to secure his in¬ 
vention by a patent. 

As in the case of nearly all inventions which have 
proved productive, Heathcoat’s rights as a patentee 
were disputed, and his claims as an inventor called in 
question. On the supposed invalidity of the patent, 
the lace-makers boldly adopted the bobbin-net machine, 
and set the inventor at defiance. But other patents 
were taken out for alleged improvements and adapta¬ 
tions; and it was only when these new patentees fell out 
and went to law with each other that Heathcoat’s rights 
became established. One lace manufacturer having 
brought an action against another for an alleged infringe¬ 
ment of his patent, the jury brought in a verdict for the 


220 


HeathcociVs Patent Disputed. 


defendant, in which the judge concurred, on the ground 
that both the machines in question were infringements 
of Heathcoat's patent. 

After the trial was over, Mr. Heathcoat, on inquiry, 
found about six hundred machines at work after his 
patent, and he proceeded to levy royalty upon the own¬ 
ers of them, which amounted to a large sum. But the 
profits realized by the manufacturers of lace were very 
great, and the use of the machines rapidly extended, 
while the price of the article was reduced from five 
pounds the square yard to about five pence in the 
course of twenty-five years. During the same period 
the average annual returns of the lace trade have been 
at least four millions sterling, and it gives remunerat¬ 
ive employment to about 150,000 workpeople. 

In 1809 we him established as a lace manufac¬ 
turer at Loughborough, in Leicestershire. There he 
carried on a prosperous business, giving employment 
to a large number of operatives, at wages varying from 
$25 to $50 a week. 

Not only did he carry on the manufacture of lace, 
but the various branches of business connected with it, 
yarn doubling, silk spinning, net making and finishing. 
He also established an iron-foundry and works for the 
manufacture of agricultural implements, which proved 
of great convenience to the district. It was a favorite 
idea of his that steam power was capable of being ap¬ 
plied to perform all the heavy drudgery of life, and he 
labored for a long time at the invention of a steam 
plough. In 1832 he so far completed his invention as 
to be enabled to take out a patent for it, and Heath- 


Hecitlicoat at Tiverton . 221 

coat’s steam plough, though it has since been super¬ 
seded by Fowler’s, was considered the best machine 
of the kind that had up to that time been invented. 

Mr. Heathcoat was a man of great natural gifts. He 
possessed a sound understanding, quick perception, and 
a genius for business of the highest order. With these 
he combined uprightness, honesty and integrity—qual¬ 
ities which are the true glory of human character. 
Himself a diligent self-educator, he gave ready encour¬ 
agement to deserving youths in his employment, stim¬ 
ulating their talents and fostering their energies. Dur¬ 
ing his own busy life, he contrived to save time to mas¬ 
ter French and Italian, of which he acquired an accu* 
rate and grammatical knowledge. His mind was largely 
stored with the results of a careful study of the best 
literature, and there was few subjects on which he 
had not formed for himself shrewd and accurate views. 
The two thousand workpeople in his employment re¬ 
garded him almost as a father, and he carefully pro¬ 
vided for their comfort and improvement. Prosperity 
did not spoil him, as it does so many, nor close his 
heart against the claims of the poor and struggling, 
who were always sure of his sympathy and help. To 
provide for the education of the children of his work¬ 
people, he built schools for them at the cost of about 
$30,000. He was also a man of singularly cheerful 
and buoyant disposition, a favorite with men of all clas¬ 
ses, and most admired and beloved by those who knew 
him best. 

In 1831 the electors of Tiverton, of which town Mr. 
Heathcoat had proved himself so genuine a benefactor, 


222 


Heatlicoat in Parliament . 


returned him to represent them in Parliament, and he 
continued their member for nearly thirty years. Dur¬ 
ing a great part of that time he had Lord Palmerston 
for his colleague, and the noble lord, on more than one 
public occasion, expressed the high regard which he en¬ 
tertained for his venerable friend. On retiring from 
the representation in 1859, thirteen hundred of his 
workmen presented him with a silver inkstand and gold 
pen, in token of their esteem. He enjoyed his leisure 
for only two more years, dying in January, 1861, at the 
age of seventy-seven, and leaving behind him a charac¬ 
ter for probity, virtue, manliness and mechanical genius, 
of which his descendants may well be proud. 



CHAPTER IX. 



APPLICATION AND PERSEVERANCE. 

44 Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.'*' 
—Confucius. 

“ Learn as if you were to live forever ; live as if you were to die to-morrow.’ r 
—Ansalus de Insulis. 

HE greatest results in life are usually attained 
by simple means, and the exercise of ordinary 
qualities. The common life of every day, with 
its cares, necessities and duties, affords ample 
opportunity for acquiring experience of the best kind, 
and its most beaten paths provide the true worker with 
abundant scope for effort and room for self-improve¬ 
ment. The road of human welfare lies along the old 
highway of steadfast well-doing; and they who are the 
most persistent, and work in the truest spirit, will usu¬ 
ally be the most successful. 

Fortune has often been blamed for her blindness; 
but fortune is not so blind as men are. Those who 
look into practical life will find that fortune is usually 
on the side of the industrious, as the winds and waves 
are on the side of the best navigators. In the pursuit 
of even the highest branches of human inquiry, the 
commoner qualities are found the most useful—such as 
common sense, attention, application and perseverance. 






224 Garfield's Industry . 

Genius may not be necessary, though even genius of 
the highest sort does not disdain the use of these ordi- 
nary qualities. The very greatest men have been 
among the least believers in the power of genius, and 
as worldly wise and persevering as successful men of 
the commoner sort. Some have even defined genius to 
be only common sense intensified. A distinguished 
teacher and president of a college spoke of it as the 
power of making efforts. John Foster held it to be the 
power of lighting one’s own fire, Buffon said of genius, 
“ it is patience.” 

Newton’s was unquestionably a mind of the very 
highest order, and yet, when asked by what means he 
had worked out his extraordinary discoveries, he mod¬ 
estly answered, “ by always thinking unto them.” At 
another time he thus expressed his method of study: 
“ I keep the subject continually before me, and wait 
till the first dawnings open slowly by little and little 
into a full and clear light.” It was in Newton’s case 
as in every other, only by diligent application and per¬ 
severance that his great reputation was achieved. 
Even his recreation consisted in change of study, lay¬ 
ing down one subject to take up another. To Dr. 
Bentley he said: “ If I have done the public any serv¬ 
ice, it is due to nothing but industry and patient 
thought.” 

When the late President Garfield began the study of 
finance, he discovered that many of the best books up¬ 
on that subject were written in the French language. 
He immediately set himself at work to learn it, and 
amid his diversified duties, soon found time to so far 


Application and Perseverance. 225 

conquer this language as to be able to both read and 
speak it well. 

Dalton, the chemist, repudiated the notion of his be¬ 
ing “ a genius,” attributing everything which he had 
accomplished to simple industry and accumulation. 
John Hunter said of himself, “ My mind is like a bee¬ 
hive; but full as it is of buzz and apparent confusion, 
it is yet full of order and regularity, and food collected 
with incessant industry from the choicest stores of na¬ 
ture.” We have, indeed, but to glance at the bio¬ 
graphies of great men to find that the most distin¬ 
guished inventors, artists, thinkers and workers of all 
kinds, owe their success, in a great measure, to their 
patient industry and application. They were men who 
turned all things to gold—even time itself. Disraeli, 
the elder, held that the secret of success consisted in 
being master of your subject, such mastery being at¬ 
tainable only through continuous application and study. 
Hence it happens that the men who have most moved 
the world, have not been so much men of genius, strictly 
so called, as men of intense mediocre abilities, and un¬ 
tiring perseverance; not so often the gifted, of naturally 
bright and shining qualities, as those who have applied 
themselves diligently to their work, in whatsoever line 
that might lie. 

Hence, a great point to be aimed at is to get the 
working quality well trained. When that is done, 
the race will be found comparatively easy. We must 
repeat and again repeat, facility will come with labor. 
Not even the simplest art can be accomplished without 
it, and what difficulties it is found capable of achieving! 


226 Cheerfulness . 

It was by early discipline and repetition that the late 
Sir Robert Peel cultivated those remarkable, though 
still mediocre powers, which rendered him so illustrious 
an ornament of the British Senate. When a boy at 
Drayton Manor, his father was accustomed to set him 
up at table to practice speaking extempore, and he 
early accustomed him to repeat as much of the Sun¬ 
day’s sermon as he could remember. Little progress 
was made at first, but by steady perseverance the habit 
of attention became powerful, and the sermon was at 
length repeated almost verbatim. When afterwards 
replying in succession to the arguments of his parlia¬ 
mentary opponents—an art in which he was perhaps 
unrivalled—it was little surmised that the extraordinary 
power of accurate remembrance which he displayed on 
such occasions, had been originally trained under the 
discipline of his father in the parish church of Drayton. 

Progress, however, of the best kind, is comparative¬ 
ly slow. Great results can not be achieved at once; and 
we must be satisfied to advance in life as we walk, step 
by step. De Maistre says that u To know how to wait 
is the great secret of success.” We must sow before we 
can reap, and often have to wait long, content meanwhile 
to look patiently forward in hope; the fruit best worth 
waiting for often ripening the slowest. But “ Time and 
patience,” says the Eastern proverb, “ change the mul¬ 
berry leaf to satin.” 

To wait patiently, however, men must worK cheer¬ 
fully. Cheerfulness is an excellent working quality, im¬ 
parting great elasticity to the character. As a bishop 
has said, “ Temper is nine-tenths of Christianity; ” so 


227 


Dr . Young . 

are cheerfulness and diligence ninth-tenths of practical 
wisdom. They are the life and soul of success, as well 
as of happiness; perhaps the very highest pleasure in 
life consisting in clear, brisk, conscious working; ener¬ 
gy, confidence, aud every other good quality mainly 
depending upon it. Sydney Smith, when laboring as a 
parish priest at Foston-le-Clay, in Yorkshire—though 
he did not feel himself to be in his proper element— 
went cheerfully to work in the firm determination to do 
his best. “I am resolved,” he said, “to like it, and 
reconcile myself to it, which is more manly than to feign 
myself above it, and to send up complaints by the post, 
of being thrown away, and being desolate, and such like 
trash.” So Dr. Hook, when leaving Leeds for a new 
sphere of labor, said, “ Wherever I may be, I shall, by 
God’s blessing, do with my might what my hand findeth 
to do; and, if I do not find work, I shall make it.” 

It was a maxim of Dr. Young, the philosopher, that 
u Any man can do what any other man has done; ” and 
it is unquestionable that he himself never recoiled from 
any trials to which he determined to subject himself. 
It is related of him that the first time he mounted a 
horse he was in company with the grandson of Mr. 
Barclay, of Ury, the well-known sportsman, when the 
horseman who preceded them leaped a high fence. 
Young wished to imitate him, but fell off his horse in 
the attempt. Without saying a word he remounted, 
made a second effort, and was again unsuccessful, but 
this time was not thrown further off than on to the 
horse’s neck, to which he clung. At the third trial he 
succeeded, and cleared the fence. 


228 


A udubon. 


The story of Timour the Tartar learning a lesson of 
perseverence under adversity from the spider is well 
known. Not less interesting is the anecdote of Audu¬ 
bon, the American ornithologist, as related by himself: 
“ An accident,” he says, “ which happened to two hun¬ 
dred of my original drawings, nearly put a stop to my 
researches in ornithology. I shall relate it, merely to 
show how far enthusiasm—for by no other name can I 
call my perseverance—may enable the preserver of na¬ 
ture to surmount the most disheartening difficulties. I 
left the village of Henderson, in Kentucky, situated on 
the banks of the Ohio, where I resided for several years, 
to proceed to Philadelphia on business. I looked to my 
drawings before my departure, placed them carefully in 
a wooden box, and gave them in charge of a relative, 
with injunctions to see that no injury should happen 
to them. My absence was of several months, and when 
I returned, after having enjoyed the pleasures of home 
for a few days, I inquired after my box, and what I was 
pleased to call my treasure. The box was produced 
and opened; but, reader, feel for me—a pair of Norway 
rats had taken possession of the whole, and reared a 
young family among the gnawed bits of paper, which, 
but a month previous, represented nearly a thousand 
inhabitants of air! The burning heat which in¬ 
stantly rushed through my brain was too great to be 
endured without affecting my whole nervous system. I 
slept for several nights, and the days passed like days 
of oblivion—until the animal powers being recalled into 
action, through the strength of my constitution, I took 
up my gun, my note-book and my pencils, and went 


Newton — Carlyle . 229 

forth to the woods as gayly as if nothing had happened. 
I felt pleased that I might now make better drawings 
than before; and, ere a period not exceeding three years 
had elapsed, my portfolio was again filled.” 

The accidental destruction of Sir Isaac Newton’s pa¬ 
pers, by his little dog “ Diamond ” upsetting a lighted 
taper upon his desk, by which the elaborate calcula¬ 
tions of many years were in a moment destroyed, is a 
well-known anecdote, and need not be repeated: it is 
said that the loss caused the philosopher such profound 
grief that it seriously injured his health, and impaired 
his understanding. An accident of a somewhat similar 
kind happened to the manuscript of Mr. Carlyle’s first 
volume of his “ French Revolution.” He had lent the 
manuscript to a literary neighbor to peruse. By some 
mischance it had been left lying on the parlor floor, and 
become forgotten. Weeks ran on, and the historian 
sent for his work, the printers being loud for “ copy.” 
Inquiries were made, and it was found that the maid-of- 
all-work, finding what she conceived to be a bundle of 
waste paper on the floor, had used it to light the kitch¬ 
en and parlor fires! Such was the answer returned to 
Mr. Carlyle, and his feelings may be imagined. There 
was, however, no help for him but to set resolutely to 
work to re-write the book, and he turned to and did it. 
He had no draft, and was compelled to rake up from his 
memory, facts, ideas, and expressions which had been 
long since dismissed. The composition of the book in 
the first instance had been a work of pleasure; the 
writing of it a second time was one of pain and anguish 
almost beyond belief. That he persevered and finished 


230 


Stephenson — Watt. 


the volume under such circumstances, affords an instance 
of determination of purpose which has seldom been sur¬ 
passed. 

The lives of eminent inventors are eminently illustra¬ 
tive of the same quality of perseverance. George Steph¬ 
enson, when addressing young men, was accustomed to 
sum up his best advice to them in the words, “ Do as I 
have done—persevere.” He had worked at the im¬ 
provement of his locomotive for some fifteen years be¬ 
fore achieving his decisive victory at Rainhill; and 
Watt was engaged for some thirty years upon the con- 
densing-engine before he brought it to perfection. But 
there are equally striking illustrations of perseverance 
to be found in every other branch of science, art, and 
industry. Perhaps one of the most interesting is that 
connected with the disentombment of the Ninevah mar¬ 
bles, and the discovery of the long lost cuneiform or 
arrow-headed character in which the inscriptions on them 
are written—a kind of writing which had been lost to 
the world since the period of the Macedonian conquest 
of Persia. 

An intelligent cadet of the East India Company, sta¬ 
tioned at Kermanshah, in Persia, had observed the cu¬ 
rious cuneiform inscriptions on the old monuments in 
the neighborhood—so old that all historical traces of 
them had been lost—and amongst the inscriptions which 
he copied was that on the celebrated rock of Behistun 
—a perpendicular rock rising abruptly some 1700 feet 
from the plain, the lower part bearing inscriptions for 
the space of about 300 feet in three languages—Per¬ 
sian, Scythian, and Assyrian. Comparison of the known 


Rawlinson—L ayard. 231 

with the unknown, of the language which survived with 
the language that had been lost, enabled this cadet 
to acquire some knowledge of the cuneiform character, 
and even to form an alphabet. Mr. Rawlinson sent his 
tracings home for examination. No professors in col¬ 
leges as yet knew anything of the cuneiform character; 
but there was a clerk of the East India House—a mod¬ 
est unknown man by the name of Norris—who had 
made this little-understood subject his study, to whom 
the tracings were submitted; and so accurate was his 
knowledge, that, though he had never seen the Behis- 
tun rock, he pronounced that the cadet had not copied 
the puzzling inscription with proper exactness. Raw¬ 
linson, who was still in the neighborhood of the rock, 
compared his copy with the original, and found that 
Norris was right; and, by further comparison and care¬ 
ful study the knowledge of the cuneiform writing was 
thus greatly advanced. 

But to make the learning of these two self-taught 
men of avail, a third laborer was necessary, in order to 
supply them with material for the exercise of their skill. 
Such a laborer presented himself in the person of Aus¬ 
ten Layard, originally an articled clerk in the office of 
a London solicitor. One would scarcely have expected 
to find in these three men, a cadet, an India-House 
clerk, and a lawyer’s clerk, the discoverers of a forgot¬ 
ten language, and of the buried history of Babylon; yet 
it was so. Layard was a youth of only twenty-two, 
traveling in the East, when he was possessed with a de¬ 
sire to penetrate the regions beyond the Euphrates. Ac¬ 
companied by a single companion, trusting to his arms 


232 Buff on — 4 4 Genius is Patience . ’ ’ 

for protection, and what was better, to his cheerfulness, 
politeness, and chivalrous bearing, he passed safely 
amidst tribes at deadly war with each other; and, after 
the lapse of many years, with comparatively slender 
means at his command, but aided by application and 
perseverance, resolute will and purpose, and almost 
sublime patience—borne up throughout by his passion¬ 
ate enthusiasm for discovery and research—he suc¬ 
ceeded in laying bare and digging up an amount of his¬ 
torical treasures, the like of which has probably never 
before been collected by the industry of any one man. 
Not less than two miles of bas-reliefs were thus brought 
to light by Mr. Layard. The selection of these valua¬ 
ble antiquities, now placed in the British Museum, was 
found so curiously corroborative of the scriptural rec¬ 
ords of events which occurred some three thousand 
years ago, that they burst upon the world almost like a 
new revelation. And the story of the disentombment 
of these remarkable works, as told by Mr. Layard him¬ 
self, in his “ Monuments of Ninevah,” will always be 
regarded as one of the most charming and unaffected 
records which we possess of individual enterprise, in¬ 
dustry, and energy. 

The career of the Comte de Buffon presents another 
remarkable illustration of the power of patient indus¬ 
try, as well as of his own saying, that “ Genius is pa¬ 
tience.” Notwithstanding the great results achieved 
by him in natural history, Buffon, when a youth, was 
regarded as of mediocre talents. His mind was slow 
in forming itself, and slow in reproducing what it had 
acquired. He was also constitutionally indolent; and, 


Buff on a Conscientious Worker . 233 

being born to good estate, it might be supposed that he 
would indulge his liking for ease and luxury. Instead 
of which, he early formed the resolution of denying 
himself pleasure, and devoting himself to study and 
self-culture. Regarding time as a treasure that was 
limited, and finding that he was losing many hours by 
lying abed in the mornings, he determined to break 
himself of the habit. He struggled hard against it for 
some time, but failed in being able to rise at the hour 
he had fixed. He then called his servant, Joseph, to 
his help, and promised him the reward of a crown 
every time he succeeded in getting him up before six. 
At first, when called, Buffon declined to rise—pleaded 
that he was ill, or pretended anger at being disturbed; 
and on the Count at length getting up, Joseph found 
that he had earned nothing but reproaches for having 
permitted his master to lay abed contrary to his ex¬ 
press orders. At length the valet determined to earn 
his crown; and again and again he forced Buffon to 
rise, notwithstanding his entreaties, expostulations, and 
threats of immediate discharge from his service. One 
morning Buffon was unusually obstinate, and Joseph 
found it necessary to resort to the extreme measure of 
dashing a basin of ice-cold water under the bed-clothes, 
the effect of which was instantaneous. By the persis¬ 
tent use of such means, Buffon at length conquered his 
habit; and he was accustomed to say, that he owed to 
Joseph three or four volumes of his Natural History. 

For forty years of his life, Buffon worked every 
morning at his desk from nine till two, and again in the 
evening from five till nine. His diligence was so con- 


234 


Order in Everything . 


tinuous and so regular that it became habitual. His 
biographer has said of him, “Work was his necessity; 
his studies were the charm of his life; and towards 
the last years of his glorious career he frequently said 
that he still hoped to be able to consecrate to them a 
few more years.” He was a most conscientious worker, 
always studying to give the reader his best thoughts, 
expressed in the very best manner. He was never 
wearied with touching and retouching his compositions, 
so that his style may be pronounced almost perfect. 
He wrote the “ Epoques de la Nature ” not fewer than 
eleven times before he was satisfied with it; although 
he had thought over the work about fifty years. He 
was a thorough man of business, most orderly in every 
thing; and he was accustomed to say that genius with¬ 
out order lost three-fourths of its power. His great 
success as a writer was the result mainly of his pains¬ 
taking labor and diligent application. “ Buffon,” ob¬ 
served Madame Necker, u strongly persuaded that 
genius is the result of a profound attention directed to 
a particular subject, said that he was thoroughly wearied 
out when composing his first writings, but compelled 
himself to return to them and go over them carefully 
again, even when he thought he had already brought 
them to a certain degree of perfection; and that at 
length he found pleasure instead of weariness in this 
long and elaborate correction.” It ought also to be 
added that Buffon wrote and published all his great 
works while afflicted by one of the most painful dis¬ 
eases to which the human frame is subject. 

True wisdom and humility are such that the more a 


Loudon . 


235 


man really knows, the less conceited he is. The student 
at Trinity College who went up to his professor to 
take leave of him because he had “ finished his educa¬ 
tion,” was wisely rebuked by the professor’s reply, 
u Indeed! I am only beginning mine.” The superficial 
person, who has obtained a smattering of many things 
but knows nothing well, may pride himself upon his 
gifts; but the sage humbly confesses that “all he knows 
is, that he knows nothing,” or, like Newton, that he 
has been only engaged in picking shells by the sea-shore 
while the great ocean of truth lies all unexplored before 
him. 

Loudon, the landscape gardner, was a man of extra¬ 
ordinary working power. The son of a farmer near 
Edinburgh, he was early inured to work. His skill in 
drawing plans and making sketches of scenery induced 
his father to train him for a landscape gardner. During 
his apprenticeship he sat up two whole nights every 
week to study; yet he worked harder during the day 
than any laborer. In the course of his night studies he 
learnt French, and before he was eighteen he translated 
a life of Abelard for an Encyclopaedia. He was so 
eager to make progress in life, that when only twenty, 
while working as a gardener in England, he wrote 
down in his note book, “ I am now twenty years of age, 
and perhaps a third part of my life has passed away, 
and yet what have I done to benefit my fellow-men? ” 
an unusual reflection for a youth of only twenty. Frfcm 
French he proceeded to learn German, and rapidly 
mastered that language. Having taken a large farm, 


236 


Samuel Drew . 


for the purpose of introducing Scotch improvements in 
the art of agriculture, he shortly succeeded in realizing 
a considerable income. The continent being thrown 
open at the end of the war, he traveled abroad for 
the purpose of inquiring into the system of gardening 
and agriculture in other countries. He twice repeated 
his journeys, and the results were published in his 
Encyclopaedias, which are among the most remarkable 
works of their kind—distinguished for the immense 
mass of useful matter which they contain, collected by 
an amount of industry and labor which has rarely been 
equalled. 

The career of Samuel Drew is not less remarkable 
than any of those which we have cited. His father was 
a hard-working laborer of Cornwall. Though poor, 
he contrived to send his two sons to a penny-a-week 
school. Jabez, the elder, took delight in learning, and 
made great progress in his lessons; but Samuel, the 
younger, was a dunce, notoriously given to mischief and 
playing truant. When he was eight years old he was 
put to manual labor, earning three halfpence a day. 
At ten he was apprenticed to a shoemaker, and while 
in this employment he endured much hardship—living, 
as he used to say, “ like a toad under a harrow.” He 
often thought of running away and becoming a pirate, 
or something of the sort, and he seems to have grown 
in recklessness as he grew in years. In robbing orchards, 
he was usually a leader; and, as he grew older, he de¬ 
lighted to take part in any poaching or smuggling ad¬ 
venture. When about seventeen, before his apprentice- 


237 


Smuggling Adventure . 

ship was out, he ran away, intending to enter on board 
a man-of-war; but, sleeping in a hay-field at night 
cooled him a little, and he returned to his trade. 

Drew next removed to the neighborhood of Plymouth 
to work at the shoemaking business. While there, he 
had nearly lost his life in a smuggling exploit which he 
had joined, partly induced by the love of adventure, 
and partly by the love of gain, for his regular wages 
were not more than eight shillings a week. One night, 
notice was given throughout Crafthole, that a smuggler 
was off the coast, ready to land her cargo; on which 
the male population of the place—nearly all smugglers 
—made for the shore. One party remained on the 
rocks to make signals and dispose of the goods as they 
were landed; and another manned the boats, Drew be¬ 
ing of the latter party. The night was intensely dark, 
and very little of the cargo had been landed, when the 
wind rose, with a heavy sea. The men in the boats, 
however, determined to persevere, and several trips 
were made between the smuggler, now standing farther 
out to sea, and the shore. One of the men in the boat 
in which Drew was, had his hat blown off by the wind, 
and in attempting to recover it, the boat was upset. 
Three of the men were immediately drowned; the others 
clung to the boat for a time, but finding it drifting 
out to sea, they took to swimming. They were two 
miles from land, and the night was intensely dark. 
After being about three hours in the water, Drew 
reached a rock near the shore, with one or two others, 
where he remained benumbed with cold till morning, 
when he and his his companions were discovered and 
taken off, more dead than alive. 


238 


Samuel Drew. 


This was a very unpromising beginning of a life; and 
yet this same Drew, scapegrace, orchard-robber, shoe¬ 
maker and smuggler, outlived the recklessness of his 
youth, and became distinguished as a minister of the 
Gospel and a writer of good books. Happily, before 
it was too late, the energy which characterized him 
was turned into a more healthy direction, and rendered 
him as eminent in usefulness as he had been before in 
wickedness. His father again took him back and found 
employment for him as a journeyman shoemaker. Per¬ 
haps his recent escape from death had tended to make 
the young man serious, as we shortly find him, attracted 
by the forcible preaching of Dr. Adam Clarke. His 
brother having died about the same time, the impres¬ 
sion of seriousness was deepened; and thenceforward 
he was an altered man. He began anew the work of 
education, for he had almost forgotten how to read and 
write; and even after several years’ practice, a friend 
compared his writing to the traces of a spider dipped 
in ink set to crawl upon paper. Speaking of himself, 
about that time, Drew afterwards said, “ The more I 
read, the more I felt my own ignorance; and the more 
I felt my ignorance, the more invincible became my 
energy to surmount it. Every leisure moment was now 
employed in reading one thing or another. Having to 
support myself by manual labor, my time for reading 
was but little, and to overcome this disadvantage, my 
usual method was to place a book before me while at 
meat, and at every repast I read five or six pages.” The 
perusal of Locke’s “ Essay on the Understanding ” gave 
the first metaphysical turn to his mind. “ It awakened 


Samuel Drew, Student . 


239 ' 


me from my stupor,” said he, “ and induced me to form 
a resolution to abandon the groveling views which I 
had been accustomed to entertain.” 

Drew began business on his own account, with a cap¬ 
ital of a few shillings; but his character for steadiness 
was such that a neighboring miller offered him a loan, 
which was accepted, and, success attending his indus¬ 
try, the debt was repaid at the end of a year. He 
started with a determination to “ owe no man any 
thing,” and he held to it in the midst of many priva¬ 
tions. Often he went to bed supperless, to avoid rising 
in debt. His ambition was to achieve independence 
by industry and economy, and in this he gradually suc¬ 
ceeded. In the midst of incessant labor, he sedulously 
strove to improve his mind, studying astronomy, history, 
and metaphysics. He was induced to pursue the latter 
study chiefly because it required fewer books to con¬ 
sult than either of the others. “ It appeared to be a 
thorny path,” he said, “ but I determined, nevertheless, 
to enter, and accordingly began to read it.” 

Added to his labors in shoemaking and metaphysics, 
Drew became a local preacher and a class-leader. He 
took an eager interest in politics, and his shop became 
a favorite resort with the village politicians. And when 
they did not come to him, he went to them to talk over 
public affairs. This so encroached upon his time that 
he found it necessary sometimes to work until midnight 
to make up for the hours lost during the day. His po¬ 
litical fervor became the talk of the village. While 
busy one night hammering away at a shoe-sole, a little 
boy, seeing a light in the shop, put his mouth to the 


240 


Samuel Drew, 


keyhole of the door, and called out in a shrill pipe, 
“ Shoemaker! shoemaker! work by night and run 
about by day! ” A friend, to whom Drew afterwards 
told the story, asked, “And did not you run after 
the boy and strap him?” “ No, no,” was the reply; 
u Had a pistol been fired off at my ear, I could not have 
been more dismayed or confounded. I dropped my 
work, and said to myself ‘ True, true! but you shall 
never have that to say of me again.’ To me that cry 
was as the voice of God, and it has been a word in sea¬ 
son throughout my life. I learnt from it not to leave 
till to-morrow the work of to-day, or to idle when I 
ought to be working.” 

From that moment Drew dropped politics, and stuck 
to his work, reading and studying in his spare hours; 
but he never allowed the latter pursuit to interfere with 
his business, though it frequently broke in upon his rest. 
He married, and thought of emigrating to America; 
but he remained working on. His literary taste first 
took the direction of poetical composition; and from 
some of the fragments which have been preserved, it 
appears that his speculations as to the immateriality 
and immortality of the soul had their origin in these 
poetical musings. His study was the kitchen, where 
his wife’s bellows served him for a desk; and he wrote 
amidst the cries and cradlings of his children. Paine’s 
“ Age of Reason ” having appeared about this time 
and excited much interest, he composed a pamphlet in 
refutation of its arguments, which was published. 
He used afterwards to say that it was the “ Age 
of Reason ” that made him an author. Various 


Samuel Drew, Metaphysician . 241 

pamphlets from his pen shortly appeared in rapid suc¬ 
cession, and a few years later, while still working at 
shoemaking, he wrote and published his admirable 
“Essay on the Immateriality and Immortality of the 
Human Soul,” which he sold for twenty pounds, a great 
sum in his estimation at the time. The book went 
through many editions, and is still prized. 

Drew was in no wise puffed up by his success, as 
many young authors are, but, long after he had become 
celebrated as a writer, used to be seen sweeping the 
street before his door, or helping his apprentices to 
carry in the winter’s coals. Nor could he, for some 
time, bring himself to regard literature as a profession 
to live by. His first care was to secure an honest live¬ 
lihood by his business, and to put into the “ lottery of 
literary success,” as he termed it, only the surplus of his 
time. At length, however, he devoted himself wholly 
to literature, more particularly in connection with the 
Wesleyan body; editing one of their magazines, and 
superintending the publication of several of their de¬ 
nominational works. He also wrote in the “ Eclectic 
Review,” and compiled and published a valuable history 
of his native county, Cornwall, with numerous other 
works. Towards the close of his career he said of him¬ 
self: “Raised from one of the lowest stations in soci¬ 
ety, I have endeavored through life to bring my family 
into a state of Respectability, by honest industry, fru¬ 
gality, and a high regard for my moral character. Di¬ 
vine providence has smiled on my exertions, and crowned 
my wishes with success.” 

16 


CHAPTER X. 


HELPS AND OPPORTUNITIES—SCIENTIFIC 
PURSUITS. 

“ Opportunity has hair in front, behind she is bald ; if you seize her by the 
forelock you may hold her, but, if suffered to escape, not Jupiter himself can 
catch her again .”—From the Latin. 

CCIDENT does very little towards the pro¬ 
duction of any great result in life. Though 
sometimes what is called “ a happy hit ” may 
be made by a bold venture, the common high¬ 
way of steady industry and application is the only safe 
road to travel. It is said of the landscape painter Wil¬ 
son, that when he had nearly finished a picture in a 
tame, correct manner, he would step back from it, his 
pencil fixed at the end of a long stick, and after gazing 
earnestly on the work, he would suddenly walk up and 
by a few bold touches give a brilliant finish to the paint¬ 
ing. But it will not do for every one who would pro¬ 
duce an effect, to throw his brush at the canvas in the 
hope of producing a picture. The capability of put¬ 
ting in these last vital touches is acquired only by the 
labor of a life; and the probability is, that the artist 
who has not carefully trained himself beforehand, in at¬ 
tempting to produce a brilliant effect at a dash, will 
only produce a blotch. 







Discoveries not Accidental . 243 

Sedulous attention and painstaking industry always 
mark the true worker. The greatest men are not those 
who “ despise the day of small things,” but those who 
improve them the most carefully. Michael Angelo was 
one day explaining to a visitor to his studio what he 
had been doing at a statue since his previous visit. “ I 
have retouched this part—polished that—softened this 
feature—brought out that muscle—given some expres¬ 
sion to this lip, and more energy to that limb.” 
“ But these are trifles,” remarked the visitor. “ It may 
be so,” replied the sculptor, “ but recollect that trifles 
make perfection, and perfection is no trifle.” So it was 
said of Nicolas Poussin, the painter, that the rule of 
his conduct was, that “ whatever was worth doing at all 
was worth doing well; ” and when asked, late in life, 
by a friend, by what means he had gained so high a 
reputation among the painters of 'Italy, Poussin em¬ 
phatically answered, “ Because I have neglected noth¬ 
ing.” 

Although there are’ discoveries which are said to have 
been made by accident, if carefully inquired into, it will 
be found that there has really been very little that was 
accidental about them. For the most part these so- 
called accidents have only been opportunities, carefully 
improved by genius. The fall of the apple at Newton’s 
feet has often been quoted in proof of the accidental 
character of some discoveries. But Newton’s whole 
mind had already been devoted for years to the labori¬ 
ous and patient investigation of the subject of gravita¬ 
tion; and the circumstances of the apple falling before 
his eyes was suddenly apprehended only as genius could 


244 Intelligent Observation. 

apprehend it, and served to flash upon him the brilliant 
discovery then opening to his sight. In like manner, the 
brilliantly-colored soap-bubbles blown from a common 
tobacco-pipe—though “trifles light as air ’’inmost eyes 
—suggested to Dr. Young his beautiful theory of “ in¬ 
terferences,” and led to his discovery relating to the 
diffraction of light. Although great men are popular¬ 
ly supposed only to deal with great things, men such as 
Newton and Young were ready to detect the signifi¬ 
cance of the most familiar and simple facts; their great¬ 
ness consisting mainly in their wise interpretation of 
them. 

The difference between men consists, in a great meas¬ 
ure, in the intelligence of their observation. The Rus¬ 
sian proverb says of the non-observant man, “ He goes 
through the forest and sees no firewood.” “ The wise 
man’s eyes are in his head,” says Solomon, u but the 
fool walketh in darkness.” “ Sir,” said Johnson, on one 
occasion, to a fine gentleman just returned from Italy, 
u some men will learn more in the Hampstead stage than 
others in the tour of Europe.” It is the mind that sees 
as well as the eye. Where unthinking gazers observe 
nothing, men of intelligent vision penetrate into the very 
fibre of the phenomena presented to them, attentively 
noting differences, making comparisons, and recogniz¬ 
ing their underlying idea. Many before Galileo had 
seen a suspended weight swing before their eyes 
with a measured beat; but he was the first to detect 
the value of the fact. One of the vergers in the cathe¬ 
dral at Pisa, after replenishing with oil a lamp which 
hung from the roof, left it swing to and fro; and Gali- 


Galileo — Brown — Brunei . 


245 


leo, then a youth of only eighteen, noting it attentively, 
conceived the idea of applying it to the measurement 
of time. Fifty years of study and labor, however, 
elapsed, before he completed the invention of his Pen¬ 
dulum—the importance of which, in the measurement 
of time and in astronomical calculations, can scarcely 
be overrated. In like manner, Galileo, having casually 
heard that a Dutch spectacle-maker had presented to 
Count Maurice an instrument by means of which dis¬ 
tant objects appeared nearer to the beholder, addressed 
himself to the cause of such a phenomenon, which led 
to the invention of the telescope, and proved the begin¬ 
ning of the modern science of astronomy. Discoveries 
such as these could never have been made by a negli¬ 
gent observer, or by a mere passive listener. 

While Captain Brown was occupied in studying the 
construction of bridges, with a view of contriving one 
of a cheap description to be thrown across the Tweed, 
near which he lived, he was walking in his garden one 
dewy autumn morning, when he saw a tiny spider’s 
net suspended across his path. The idea immediately 
occurred to him that a bridge of iron ropes or chains 
might be constructed in like manner, and the result was 
the invention of his Suspension Bridge. Sir James Watt 
when consulted about the mode of carrying water by 
pipes under the Clyde, along the unequal bed of the 
river, turned his attention one day to the shell of a 
lobster presented at table; and from that model he in¬ 
vented an iron tube, which, when laid down, was found 
effectually to answer the purpose. Sir Isambert Brunei 
took his first lessons in forming the Thames Tunnel 


246 Might in Little Things . 

from the tiny ship-worm. He saw how the little crea¬ 
ture perforated the wood with its well-armed head, first 
in one direction and then in another, till the archway 
was complete, and then daubed over the roof and sides 
with a kind of varnish; and, by copying this work ex¬ 
actly, on a large scale, Brunei was at length enabled to 
construct his shield and accomplish his great engineer¬ 
ing work. 

It is the intelligent eye of the careful observer which 
gives these apparently trivial phenomena their value. 
So trifling a matter as the sight of seaweed floating 
past his ship enabled Columbus to quell the mutiny 
which arose amongst his sailors at not discovering land, 
and to assure them that the eagerly sought New World 
was not far off. There is nothing so small that it should 
remain forgotten; and no fact, however trivial, but may 
prove useful in some way or other if carefully interpre¬ 
ted. Who could have imagined that the famous 
“ chalk cliffs of Albion ” had been built up by tiny in¬ 
sects—detected only by the help of the microscope— 
of the same order of creatures that have gemmed the 
sea with islands of coral! And who that contemplates 
such extraordinary results, arising from infinitely minute 
operations, will venture to question the power of little 
things ? 

It is the close observation of little things which is 
the secret of success in business, in art, in science, and 
in every pursuit of life. Human knowledge is but an 
accumulation of small facts, made by successive gener¬ 
ations of men, the little bits of knowledge and experi¬ 
ence carefully treasured up by them growing at length 


i 

Garfield's Success . 247 

into a mighty pyramid. Though many of these facts 
and observations seemed in the first instance to have 
but slight significance, they are all found to have their 
eventual uses, and to fit into their proper places. Even 
many speculations seemingly remote, turn out to be 
the basis of results the most obviously practical. In 
the case of the conic sections discovered by Apollonius 
Pergseus, twenty centuries elapsed before they were 
made the basis of astronomy—a science which enables 
the modern navigator to steer his way through un¬ 
known seas and traces for him in the heavens an 
unerring path to his appointed haven. And had not 
mathematicians toiled for so long, and, to uninstructed 
observers, apparent^ so fruitlessly, over the abstract 
relations of lines and surfaces, it is probable that but 
few of our mechanical inventions would have seen the 
light. 

The secret of Garfield’s great success in life, of his 
culture, of his learning, and of his growth in statesman¬ 
ship was disclosed in a brief speech to the students of 
Hiram College, delivered many years ago. # He said: 
u I was thinking, young ladies and gentlemen, as I sat 
here this morning, that life is almost wholly made up 
of margins. The bulk itself of almost anything is not 
what tells. That exists anyway. That is expected. 
That is not what gives the profit or makes the distin¬ 
guishing difference. The grocer cares little for the 
great bulk of the price of his tea. It is the few cents 
between the cost and selling price, which he calls the 
margin, that particularly interests him. Is this to be 
great or small? is the thing of importance. Millions 


248 Garfield's Learning. 

of dollars change hands in our great marts of trade just 
on the question of margins. This same thing is all- 
important in the subject of thought. One mind is not 
greater than another, perhaps, in the great bulk of its 
contents; but its margin is greater, that’s all. I may 
know just as much as you do about the general details 
of a subject, but you can go just a little further than I 
can. You have a greater margin than I. You can tell 
me of some single thought just beyond where I have 
gone. Your margin has got me. I must sucumb to 
your superiority. 

A good way to carry out the same idea, and better 
illustrate it, is by globes. Did you ever see two globes 
whose only difference was, that one had half an inch 
larger diameter than the other? The larger one, al¬ 
though there is so little difference, will entirely inclose 
the other, and have a quarter of an inch in every direc¬ 
tion to spare besides. Let those globes be minds, with 
a living principle of some kind at their centres, which 
throws out its little tentacle-like arms in every direction 
as if to explore for knowledge. The one goes a cer¬ 
tain distance and stops. It can reach no farther. It 
has come to a standstill. It has reached its maximum 
of knowledge in that direction. The other sends its 
arms out, and can reach just a quarter of an inch far¬ 
ther. So far as the first mind is able to tell, the other 
has gone infinitely farther than it can reach. It goes 
out to its farthest limit and must stop; the other tells 
him things he did not know before. Many minds you 
may consider wonderful in their capacity. They may 
be able to go only a quarter of an inch beyond you. 


249 


Garfield's College Days. 

What an incentive this should be for any young man 
to work, to make his margin as great as, if not greater 
than, the margin of his fellows! 

I recall a good illustration of this when I was in col¬ 
lege. A certain young man was leading the class in 
Latin. I thought I was studying hard. I couldn’t see 
how he got the start of us all so. To us he seemed to 
have an infinite knowledge. He knew more than we 
did. Finally, one day I asked him when he learned his 
Latin lesson. “ At night,” he replied. I learned mine 
at the same time. His window was not far from mine, 
and I could see him from my own. I had finished my 
lesson the next night as well as usual, and, feeling 
sleepy, was about to go to bed. I happened to saunter 
to my window, and there I saw my classmate still 
bending diligently over his book. “ There’s where he 
gets the margin on me,” I thought. “ But he shall not 
have it for once,” I resolved. “ I will study just a little 
longer than he does to-night.” So I took down my 
books again, and, opening to the lesson, went to work 
with renewed vigor. I watched for the light to go out 
in my classmate’s room. In fifteen minutes it was all 
dark. “ There is his margin,” I thought. It was 
fifteen minutes more time. It was hunting out fifteen 
minutes more of rules and root-derivatives. How often, 
when a lesson is well prepared, just five minutes spent 
in perfecting it will make one the best in the class. 
The margin in such a case as that is very small, but it 
is all-important. The world is made up of little things.” 

When Franklin made his discovery of the identity 
of lightning and electricity, it was sneered at, and peo- 


250 The Art of Seizing Opportunities, 

pie asked, “ Of what use is it?” To which his reply 
was, “ What is the use of a child? It may become a 
man! ” When Galvani discovered that a frog’s leg 
twitched when placed in contact with different metals, 
it could scarcely have been imagined that so apparently' 
insignificant a fact could have led to important results. 
Yet therein lay the germ of the Electric Telegraph, 
which binds the intelligence of continents together, 
and, probably before many years have elapsed will 
“ put a girdle round the globe.” So, too, little bits of 
stone and fossil, dug out of the earth, intelligently in¬ 
terpreted, has issued in the science of geology and the 
practical operations of mining, in which large capitals 
are invested and vast numbers of persons profitaoiy 
employed. 

The gigantic machinery employed in pumping our 
mines, working our mills and manufactures, and driving 
our steamships and locomotives, in like manner depends 
for its supply of power upon so slight an agency as little 
drops of water expanded by heat—that familiar agency 
called steam, which we see issuing from that common 
tea-kettle spout, but which, when pent up within an in¬ 
geniously contrived mechanism, displays a force equal 
to that of millions of horses, and contains a power to 
rebuke the waves and set even the hurricane at de¬ 
fiance. The same power at work within the bowels 
of the earth has been the cause of those volcanoes and 
earthquakes which have played so mighty a part in the 
history of the globe. 

It is said that the Marquis of Worcester’s attention 
was first accidently directed to the subject of steam 


Rude Scientific Apparatus. 251 

power by the tight cover of a vessel containing hot 
water having been blown off before his eyes, when con¬ 
fined a prisoner in the Tower. He published the result 
of his observations in his “ Century of Inventions,” 
which formed a sort of text-book for inquiries into the 
powers of steam for a time, until Savary, Newcomen, 
and others, applying it to practical purposes, brought’ 
the steam-engine to the state in which Watt found it 
when called upon to repair a model of Newcomen’s en¬ 
gine, which belonged to the University of Glasgow. 
This accidental circumstance was an opportunity for 
Watt, which he was not slow to improve; and it was 
the labor of his life to bring the steam-engine to per¬ 
fection. 

This art of seizing opportunities and turning even 
accidents to accounts, bending them to some purpose, is 
a great secret of success. Dr. Johnson has defined 
genius to be “ a mind of large general powers accident¬ 
ally determined in some particular direction.” Men 
who are resolved to find a way for themselves, will al¬ 
ways find opportunities enough; and if they do not lie 
ready to their. hand, they will make them. It is not 
those who have enjoyed the advantages of colleges, 
musuems, and public galleries, that have accomplished 
the most for science and art; nor have the greatest 
mechanics and inventors been trained in mechanics’ in¬ 
stitutes. Necessity, oftener than facility, has been the 
mother of invention; and the most prolific school of all 
has been the school of difficulty. Some of the very 
best workmen have had the most indifferent tools to 
work with. But it is not tools that make the workman, 


252 


Ferguson — Stotliard. 

but the trained skill and perseverance of the man him¬ 
self. Indeed it is proverbial that the bad workman 
never yet had a good tool. Some one asked Opie by 
what wonderful process he mixed his colors. “ I mix 
them with my brains, sir,” was his reply. It is the 
same with every workman who would excel. Fergu¬ 
son made marvelous things—such as his wooden clock, 
that accurately measured the hours—by means of a 
common penknife, a tool in everybody’s hand; but 
then everybody is not a Ferguson. A pan of water 
and two thermometers were the tools by which Dr. 
Black discovered latent heat; and a prism, a lens, and 
a sheet of pasteboard enabled Newton to unfold the 
composition of light and the origin of colors. An em¬ 
inent foreign savant once called upon Dr. Wollaston, 
and requested to be shown over his laboratories in which 
science had been enriched by so many important dis¬ 
coveries, when the doctor took him into a little study, 
and, pointing to an old tea-tray on the table, containing 
a few watch-glasses, test-papers, a small balance, and 
a blow-pipe, said, “ There is all the laboratory that I 
have!” 

Stothard learned the art of combining colors by 
closely studying butterflies’ wings. He would often say 
that no one knew what he owed to these tiny insects. 
A burnt stick and a barn-door served Wilkie in lieu of 
pencil and canvas. Bewick first practiced drawing on 
the cottage walls of his native village, which he cov¬ 
ered with his sketches in chalk; and Benjamin West 
made his first brushes out of the cat’s tail. Ferguson 
laid himself down in the fields at night in a blanket, and 


Franklin—Professor Lee . 


253 


made a map of the heavenly bodies by means of a 
thread with small beads on it stretched between his eye 
and the stars. Franklin first robbed the thunder-cloud 
of its lightning by means of a kite made with two cross 
sticks and a silk handkerchief. Watt made his first 
model of the condensing steam-engine out of an old 
anatomist’s syringe, used to inject the arteries previous 
to dissection. Gifford worked his first problems in 
mathematics, when a cobbler’s apprentice, upon small 
scraps of leather, which he beat smooth for the purpose; 
whilst Rittenhouse, the astronomer, first calculated 
eclipses on his plough-handle. 

The most ordinary occasions will furnish a man with 
opportunities or suggestions for improvement, if he be 
but prompt to take advantage of them. Professor Lee 
was attracted to the study of Hebrew by finding a 
Bible in that tongue in a synagogue, while working as 
a common carpenter at the repairs of the benches. He 
became possessed with a desire to read the book in the 
original, and, buying a cheap second-hand copy of a 
Hebrew grammar, he sat to work and learned the lan¬ 
guage for himself. As Edmund Stone said to the Duke 
of Argyle, in answer to his grace’s inquiry how he, a 
poor gardner’s boy, had contrived to be able to read 
Newton’s Principia in Latin, “ One needs only to know 
the twenty-four letters of the alphabet in order to learn 
everything else that one wishes.” Application and per¬ 
severance, and the diligent improvement of opportuni¬ 
ties will do the rest. 

Sir Walter Scott found opportunities for.self-improve- 
ment in every pursuit, and turned even accidents to ac- 


254 


Dr. Priestley . 


count. Thus it was in the discharge of his functions 
as a writer’s apprentice that he first visited the High¬ 
lands, and formed those friendships among the surviv¬ 
ing heroes of 1745 which served to lay the foundation 
of a large class of his works. Later in life, when em¬ 
ployed as quartermaster of the Edinburgh Light Cav¬ 
alry, he was accidently disabled by the kick of a horse, 
and confined for some time to his house; but Scott was 
a sworn enemy to idleness, and he forthwith set his 
mind to work. In three days he had composed the 
first canto of “ The Lay of the Last Minstrel,” 
which he shortl}’ after finished—his first great original 
work. 

The attention of Dr. Priestly, the discoverer of so 
many gases, was accidentally drawn to the subject of 
chemistry through his living in the neighborhood of a 
brewery. When visiting the place one day, he noted 
the peculiar appearances attending the extinction of 
lighted chips in the gas floating over the fermented 
liquor. He was forty years old at the time, and knew 
nothing of chemistry. He consulted books to ascertain 
the cause, but they told him little, for as yet nothing 
was known on the subject. Then he began to experi¬ 
ment, with some rude apparatus of his own contrivance. 
The curious results of his first experiments led to 
others, which in his hands shortly became the science 
of pneumatic chemistry. About the same time Scheele 
was obscurely working in the same direction in a re¬ 
mote Swedish village; and he discovered several new 
gases, with no more effective apparatus at his com¬ 
mand than a few apothecaries’ vials and pigs’ blad¬ 
ders. 


Davy — Faraday. 


255 


Sir Humphrey Davy, when an apothecary’s appren 
tice, performed his first experiments with instruments of 
the rudest description. He extemporized the greater 
part of them himself, out of the motley materials which 
chance threw in his way—the pots and pans of the 
kitchen, and the vials and vessels of his master’s surge¬ 
ry. It happened that a French ship was wrecked off 
the Land’s End, and the surgeon escaped, bearing with 
him his case of instruments, amongst which was an old- 
fashioned glyster apparatus; this article he presented to 
Davy, with whom he had become acquainted. The 
apothecary’s apprentice received it with great exulta¬ 
tion, and forthwith employed it as a part of a pneumatic 
apparatus which he contrived, afterwards using it to 
perform the duties of an air-pump in one of his experi¬ 
ments on the nature and sources of heat. 

In like manner Professor Faraday, Sir Humphrey 
Davy’s scientific successor, made his first experiments 
in electricity by means of an old bottle, while he was 
still a working bookbinder. And it is a curious fact, 
that Faraday was first attracted to the study of chem¬ 
istry by hearing one of Sir Humphrey Davy’s lectures 
on the subject at the Royal Institution. A gentleman, 
who was a member, calling one day at the shop where 
Faraday was employed in binding books found him por¬ 
ing over the article “ Electricity ” in an Encyclopaedia 
placed in his hands to bind. The gentleman, having 
made inquiries, found that the young bookbinder was cu¬ 
rious about such subjects, and gave him an order of ad 
mission to the Royal Institution, where he attended a 
course of four lectures delivered by Sir Humphrey. He 


256 


Davy . 


took notes of them, which he showed to the lecturer, 
who acknowledged their scientific accuracy, and was 
surprised when informed of the humble position of the 
reporter. Faraday then expressed his desire to devote 
himself to the prosecution of chemical studies, from 
which Sir Humphrey at first endeavored to dissuade him; 
but the young man persisting, he was at length taken into 
the Royal Institution as an assistant; and eventually the 
mantle of the brilliant apothecary’s boy fell upon the 
worthy shoulders of the equally brilliant bookbinder’s 
apprentice. 

The words which Davy entered in his note-book when 
about twenty years of age,working in Dr Beddoes labor¬ 
atory at Bristol, were eminently characteristic of him: 
“I have neither riches, nor power, nor birth to recom¬ 
mend me; yet, if I live, I trust I shall not be of less ser¬ 
vice to mankind and my friends, than if I had been born 
with all these advantages.” Davy possessed the capa¬ 
bility of devoting the whole power of his mind to the 
practical and experimental investigation of a subject in 
all its bearings; and such a mind will rarely fail, by dint 
of mere industry and patient thinking, in producing re¬ 
sults of the highest order. Coleridge said of Davy, 
“ There is an energy and elasticity in his mind which en¬ 
ables him to seize on and analyze all questions, pushing 
them to their legitimate consequences Every subject in 
Davy’s mind has the principle of vitality. Living 
thoughts spring up like turf under , his feet.” Davy, 
on his part, said of Coleridge, whose abilities he great¬ 
ly admired, “Withthe most exalted genius, enlarged 
views, sensitive heart, and enlightened mind, he will 


Cavier . 


257 


be the victim of a want of order, precision, and reg¬ 
ularity. 17 

The great Cuvier was a singularly accurate, careful, 
and industrious observer. When a boy he was at¬ 
tracted to the subject of natural history by the sight of 
a volume of Buffon which accidentally fell in his way. 
He at once proceeded to copy the drawings, and to color 
them after the description given in the text. While 
still at school, one of the teachers made him a present 
of “ Linnaeus’s System of nature; 11 and for more than 
ten years this constituted his library of natural history. 
At eighteen he was offered the situation of tutor in 
a family residing in Normandy. Living close to the 
sea-shore, he was brought face to face with the won¬ 
ders of marine life. Strolling along the sands one day 
he observed a stranded cuttle-fish. He was attracted 
by the curious object, took it home to dissect, and thus 
began the study of the molluscae, in the pursuit of which 
he achieved so distinguished a reputation. He had no 
books to refer to, excepting only the great book of Na¬ 
ture which lay open before him. The study of the 
novel and interesting objects which it daily presented 
to his eyes made a much deeper impression on his mind 
than any written or engraved descriptions could possi¬ 
bly have done. Three years thus passed, during which 
he compared the living species of marine animals with 
the fossil remains found in the neighborhood, dissected 
the specimens of marine life that came under his notice, 
and, by careful observation, prepared the way for a 
complete reform in the classification of the animal 
kingdom. 

17 


258 


Persistent Industry . 


It is not accident, then, that helps a man in the world 
so much as purpose and persistent industry. To the 
feeble, the sluggish and purposeless, the happiest acci¬ 
dents will avail nothing—they pass them by, seeing 
no meaning in them. But it is astonishing how much 
can be accomplished if we are prompt to seize and im¬ 
prove the opportunities for action and effort which are 
constantly presenting themselves. Watt taught him¬ 
self chemistry and mechanics while working at his 
trade of a mathematical-instrument maker, at the same 
time that he was learning German from a Swiss dyer. 
Stephenson taught himself arithmetic and mensuration 
while working as an engine-man, during the night shifts; 
and when he could snatch a few moments in the inter¬ 
vals allowed for meals during the day, he worked his 
sums with a bit of chalk upon the sides of the colliery 
wagons. Dalton’s industry was the habit of his life. 
He began from his boyhood, for he taught a little vil¬ 
lage school when he was only about twelve years old— 
keeping the school in winter, and working upon his 
father’s farm in summer He would sometimes urge 
himself and companions to study by the stimulus of a 
bet, and on one occasion by his satisfactory solution of 
a problem, he won as much as enabled him to buy a 
winter’s store of candles. He continued his meteorol¬ 
ogical observations until a day or two before he died— 
having made and recorded upwards of 200,000 in the 
course of his life. 

With perseverance, the very odds and ends of time 
may be worked up into results of the greatest value. 
An hour in every day withdrawn from frivolous pur- 


259 


The Value of Time . 

suits would, if profitably employed, enable a person of 
ordinary capacity to go far towards mastering a 
science. It would make an ignorant man a well-in¬ 
formed one in less than ten years. Time should not 
be allowed to pass without yielding fruits, in the form of 
something learned worthy of being known, some good 
principle cultivated, or some good habit strengthened. 
Dr Mason Good translated Lucretius while riding in 
his carriage in the streets of London, going the round 
of his patients. Dr. Darwin composed nearly all his 
works in the same way while driving about in his 
u sulky ” from house to house in the country—writing 
down his thoughts on little scraps of paper, which he 
carried about with him for the purpose. Hale wrote his 
“ Contemplations ” while traveling on circuit. Dr. 
Burne} 7 learned French and Italian while traveling on 
horseback from one musical pupil to another in the 
course of his profession. Kirke White learned Greek 
while walking to and from a lawyer’s office; and we 
personally know a man of eminent position who learned 
Latin and French while going messages as an errand- 
boy in the streets of Manchester. 

Daguesseau, one of the great chancellors of France,, 
by carefully working up his odd bits of time, wrote a 
bulky and able volume in the successive intervals of 
waiting for dinner, and Madame de Genlis composed 
several of her charming volumes while waiting for the 
princess to whom she gave her daily lessons. Elihu 
Burritt attributed his first success in self-improvement, 
not to genius, which he disclaimed, but simply to the 
careful employment of those invaluable fragments of 


260 


The Hours Perish . 


time called “ odd moments.” While working and 
earning his living as a blacksmith, he mastered some 
eighteen ancient and modern languages, and twenty 
two European dialects. 

What a solemn and striking admonition to youth is 
that inscribed on the dial at All Souls, Oxford—“ The 
hours perish, and are laid to our charge.” Time is the 
only little fragment of Eternity that belongs to man; 
and, like life, it can never be recalled. “ In the dissi¬ 
pation of worldly treasure,” says Jackson of Exeter, 
“ the frugality of the future may balance the extrava- 
gance of the past; but who can say, ‘1 will take from 
minutes to-morrow to compensate for those I have lost 
to-day?’” Melanchthon noted down the time lost by 
him, that he might thereby reanimate his industry, and 
not lose an hour. An Italian scholar put over his door 
an inscription intimating that whosoever remained there 
should join in his labors. “We are afraid,” said some 
visitors to Baxter, “ that we break in upon your time.” 
u To be sure you do,” replied the disturbed and blunt 
divine. Time was the estate out of which these great 
workers, and all other workers, formed that rich treas¬ 
ury of thoughts and deeds which they have left to their 
successors. 

The mere drudgery undergone by some men in car¬ 
rying on their undertakings has been something extra¬ 
ordinary, but the drudgery they regarded as the price 
of success. Addison amassed as much as three folios 
of manuscript materials before he began his “ Specta¬ 
tor.” Newton wrote his “ Chronology ” fifteen times 
over before he was satisfied with it; and Gibbon wrote 


Collected Thoughts. 261 

out his u Memoir ” nine times. Hale studied for many 
years at the rate of sixteen hours a day, and when 
wearied with the study of the law, he would recreate 
himself with philosophy and the study of the mathe¬ 
matics. Hume wrote thirteen hours a day while pre¬ 
paring his u History of England.” Montesquien, speak¬ 
ing of one part of his writings, said to a friend, “ You 
will read it in a few hours; but I assure you it has cost 
me so much labor that it has whitened my hair.” 

The practice of writing down thoughts and facts for 
the purpose of holding them fast and preventing their 
escape into the dim region of forgetfulness, has been 
much resorted to by thoughtful and studious men. 
Lord Bacon left behind him many manuscripts entitled 
“ Sudden thoughts set down for use.” Erskine made 
great extracts from Burke; and Eldon copied Coke 
upon Littleton twice over with his own hand, so that 
the book became, as it were, part of his own mind. 
The late Dr. Pye Smith, when apprenticed to his father 
as a bookbinder, was accustomed to make copious 
memoranda of all the books he read, with extracts and 
criticisms. This indomitable industry in collecting ma¬ 
terials distinguished him through life, his biographer 
describing him as “ always at work, always in advance, 
always accumulating.” These note-books afterwards 
proved like Richter’s “ quarries,” the great storehouse 
from which he drew his illustrations. 

The same practice characterized the eminent John 
Hunter, who adopted it for the purpose of supplying the 
defects of memory; and he was accustomed thus to 
illustrate the advantages which one derived from put- 


262 


John Hunter . 


ting one’s thoughts in writing: “ It resembles,” he said, 
“ a tradesman taking stock, without which he never 
knows either what he possesses or in what he is defi¬ 
cient.” John Hunter—whose observation was so keen 
that Abernethy was accustomed to speak of him as “ the 
Argus-eyed ”—furnished an illustrious example of the 
power of patient industry. He received little or no 
education till he was about twenty years of age, and 
it was with difficulty that he acquired the arts of read¬ 
ing and writing. He worked for some years as a car¬ 
penter at Glasgow, after which he joined his brother 
William, who had settled in London as a lecturer and 
anatomical demonstrator. John entered his dissecting 
room as an assistant, but soon shot ahead of his broth¬ 
er, partly by virtue of his great natural ability, but 
mainly by reason of his patient application and indefat¬ 
igable industry He was one of the first in this coun¬ 
try to devote himself assiduously to the study of com¬ 
parative anatomy, and the objects he dissected and col¬ 
lected took the eminent Professor Owen no less than 
ten years to arrange. The collection contains some 
twenty thousand specimens, and is the most precious 
treasure of the kind that has ever been accumulated by 
the industry of one man. Hunter used to spend every 
morning from sunrise until eight o’clock in his muse¬ 
um; and throughout the day he carried on his exten¬ 
sive private practice, performed his laborious duties as 
surgeon to St. George’s Hospital and deputy surgeon- 
general to the army;delivered lectures to students, and 
superintended a school of practical anatomy at his 
own house; finding leisure, amidst all, for elaborate ex- 


Harvey — Circulation of tli e Blood. 263 

perimei^ts on the animal economy, and the composition 
of various works of great scientific importance. To 
find time for this gigantic amount of work he allowed 
himself only four hours of sleep at night, and an hour 
after dinner. When once asked what method he had 
adopted to insure success in his undertakings, he replied, 
“My rule is, deliberately to consider, before I commence, 
whether the thing be practicable. If it be not practi¬ 
cable, I do not attempt it. If it be practicable, I can 
accomplish it if I give sufficient pains to it; and having 
begun, I never stop till the thing is done. To this rule 
I owe all my success.” 

Hunter occupied a great deal of his time in collect¬ 
ing definite facts respecting matters which, before his 
day, were regarded as exceedingly trivial. Thus it was 
supposed by many of his cotemporaries that he was only 
wasting his time and thought in studying so carefully 
as he did the growth of a deer’s horn. But Hunter was 
impressed with the conviction that no accurate knowl¬ 
edge of scientific facts is without its value. By the 
study referred to he learned how arteries accommodate 
themselves to circumstances, and enlarge as occasion 
requires; and the knowledge thus acquired emboldened 
him, in a case of aneurism in a branch artery, to tie the 
main trunk where no surgeons before him had dared to 
tie it, and the life of his patient was saved. Like many 
original men, he worked for a long time, as it were, un¬ 
derground, digging and laying foundations 

Harvey was as zealous a laborer as any we have 
named. He spent not less than eight long years of in¬ 
vestigation and research before he published his views 


264 Dr. Jenner — Vciccmcition . 

of the circulation of the blood. He repeated and ver¬ 
ified his experiments again and again, probably antici¬ 
pating the opposition he would have to encounter from 
the profession in making known his discovery. The 
tract in which he at length announced his views was a 
most modest one, but simple, perspicuous, and conclu¬ 
sive. It was nevertheless received with ridicule, as the 
utterance of a cracked-brained impostor. For some 
time he did not make a single convert, and gained noth¬ 
ing but contumely and abuse. He had called in ques¬ 
tion the revered authority of the ancients; and it was 
even averred that his views were calculated to subvert 
the authority of the Scriptures and undermine the very 
foundation of morality and religion. His little practice 
fell away, and he was left almost without a friend. This 
lasted for some years, until the great truth, held fast by 
Harvey amidst all his adversity, and which had dropped 
into many thoughtful miuds, gradually ripened by fur¬ 
ther observation, and after a period of about twenty- 
five years it became generally recognized as an estab¬ 
lished scientific truth. 

The difficulties encounted by Dr. Jenner in promul¬ 
gating and establishing his discovery of vaccination as 
a preventive of small-pox, were even greater than those 
of Harvey. Many, before him, had witnessed the cow- 
pox, and had heard of the report current among the milk¬ 
maids in Gloucestershire, that whoever had taken that 
disease was secure against smalbpox. It was a trifling, 
vulgar rumor, supposed to have no significance what¬ 
ever, and no one had thought it worthy of investigation, 
until it was accidentally brought under the notice of Jen- 


Dr. Jenner — Vaccination. 


265 


ner. He was a youth, pursuing his studies at Sodbury, 
when his attention was arrested by the casual observation 
made by a country girl, who came to his master’s shop 
for advice. The small-pox was mentioned, when the 
girl said, “ I can’t take that disease, for I have had cow- 
pox.” The observation immediately riveted Jenner’s 
attention, and he forthwith set about inquiring and mak¬ 
ing observations on the subject. His professional friends, 
to whom he mentioned his views as to the prophylactic 
virtues of cow-pox, laughed at him, and even threat¬ 
ened to expel him from their society, if he persisted in 
harrassing them with the subject. In London he was 
so fortunate as to study under John Hunter, to whom he 
communicated his views. The advice of the great an¬ 
atomist was thoroughly characteristic: “Don’t think, 
but try; be patient, be accurate.” Jenner’s courage 
was supported by the advice, which conveyed to him 
the true art of philosophical investigation. He went 
back to the country to practice his profession and 
make observations and experiments, which he continued 
to pursue for a period of twenty years. His faith in his dis¬ 
covery was so implicit that he vaccinated his own son on 
three several occasions. At length he published his views 
in a quarto of about seventy pages, in which he gave the 
details of twenty-three cases of successful vaccination 
of individuals, in whom it was found afterwards impos¬ 
sible to communicate the small-pox either by contagion 
or inoculation. It was in 1798 that this treatise was 
published; though he had been working out his ideas 
since the year 1775, when they had begun to assume a 
definite form. 


266 


Dr. Jenner — Vaccination. 

How was the discovery received? First with indiffer¬ 
ence, then with active hostility. Jenner proceeded to 
London to exhibit to the profession the process of vacci¬ 
nation and its results; but not a single medical man could 
be induced to make trial of it, and after fruitlessly wait¬ 
ing for nearly three months, he returned to his native 
village. He was even caricatured and abused for his at¬ 
tempt to “ bestialize ” his species by the introduction 
into their systems of diseased matter from the cow’s ud¬ 
der. Vaccination was denounced from the pulpit as “dia¬ 
bolical.” It was averred that vaccinated children became 
“ ox-faced,” that abscesses broke out to “ indicate sprout¬ 
ing horns,” and that the countenance was gradually 
“ transmuted into the visage of a cow, the voice into the 
bellowing of bulls.” Vaccination, however, was a truth, 
and, notwithstanding the violence of the opposition, belief 
in it spread slowly. In one village, where a gentleman 
tried to introduce the practice, the first persons who per¬ 
mitted themselves to be vaccinated were absolutely pelt¬ 
ed and driven into their houses if they appeared out of 
doors. Two ladies of title had the courage to vacci¬ 
nate their children, and the prejudices of the day were 
at once broken through. The medical profession grad¬ 
ually came round, and there were several who even 
sought to rob Dr. Jenner of the merit of the discovery, 
when its importance came to be recognized. Jenner’s 
cause at last triumphed, and he was publicly honored 
and rewarded. In his prosperity he was as modest as he 
had been in his obscurity. He was invited to settle in 
London, and told that he might command a practice of 
$50,000 a year. But his answer was, “ No! In the 


Dr. Bell . 


267 


morning of my days I sought the sequestered and low¬ 
ly paths of life—the valley, and not the mountain—and 
now, in the evening of my days, it is not meet for me 
to hold myself up as an object for fortune andfor fame.” 
During Jenner’s own lifetime the practice of vaccina¬ 
tion became adopted all over the civilized world; and 
when he died, his title as a benefactor of his kind was 
recognized far and wide. Cuvier has said, “ If vaccine 
were the only discovery of the epoch, it would serve to 
render it illustrious forever; yet it knocked twenty 
times in vain at the doors of the Academies,'’ 

Not less patient, resolute, and persevering was Sir 
Charles Bell in the prosecution of his discoveries re¬ 
lating to the nervous system. Previous to his time, 
the most confused notions prevailed as to the functions 
of the nerves, and this branch of study was little more 
advanced than it had been at the time of Democritus 
and Anaxagoras three thousand years before. Sir 
Charles Bell, in the valuable series of papers the pub¬ 
lication of which was commenced in 1821, took an en¬ 
tirely original view of the subject, based upon a long 
series of careful, accurate, and oft repeated experiments. 
Elaborately tracing the development of the nervous 
system up from the lowest order of animated being, to 
man—the lord of the animal kingdom—he displayed it, 
to use his own words, “ as plainly as if it were written 
in our mother-tongue.” His discovery consisted in the 
fact, that the spinal nerves are double in their function, 
and arise by double roots from the spinal marrow— 
volition being conveyed by that part of the nerves 
springing from the one root, and sensation by the other. 


268 


Sir William Herschel. 


The subject occupied the mind of Sir Charles Bell for 
a period of forty years, when, in 1840, he laid his last 
paper before the Royal Society. As in the case of 
Harvey and Jenner, when he had lived down the ridi¬ 
cule and opposition with which his views were first 
received, and their truth came to be recognized, nu¬ 
merous claims for priority in making the discovery were 
set up at home and abroad. Like them, too, he lost 
practice by the publication of his papers; and he left 
it on record that, after every step in his discovery, he 
was obliged to work harder than ever to preserve his 
reputation as a practitioner. The great merits of Sir 
Charles Bell were, however, at length fully recognized; 
and Cuvier himself, when on his death-bed, finding his 
face distorted and drawn to one side, pointed out the 
symptom to his attendants as a proof of the correct 
ness of Sir Charles Bell’s theory. 

The life of Sir William Herschel affords another re 
markable illustration of the force of perseverance in 
another branch of science. His father was a poor Ger¬ 
man musician, who brought up his four sons to the 
same calling. William came over to England to seek 
his fortune, and he joined the band of the Durham 
Militia, in which he played the oboe. The regiment 
was lying at Doncaster, where Dr. Miller first became 
acquainted with Herschel, having heard him perform a 
solo on the violin in a surprising manner. The Doctor 
entered into conversation with the youth, and was so 
pleased with him, that he urged him to leave the mili¬ 
tia and take up his residence at his house for a time. 
Herschel did so, and while at Doncaster was principally 


Sir William Her sell el. 


269 


occupied as a violin-player at concerts, availing himself 
of the advantages of Dr. Miller’s library to study at his 
leisure hours. A new organ having been built for the 
parish church at Halifax, an organist was advertised 
for, on which Herschel applied for the office and was 
selected. Leading the wandering life of an artist, he 
was next attracted to Bath, where he played in the 
Pump-room band, and also officiated as organist in the 
Octagon chapel. Some recent discoveries in astronomy 
having arrested his mind, and awakened in him a power¬ 
ful spirit of curiosity, he sought and obtained from a 
friend the loan of a two-foot Gregorian telescope. 
So fascinated was the poor musician by the science, 
that he even thought of purchasing a telescope, but the 
price asked by the London optician was so alarming 
that he determined to make one. Those who know 
what a reflecting telescope is, and the skill which is re¬ 
quired to prepare the concave metallic speculum which 
forms the most important part of the apparatus, will be 
able to form some idea of the difficulty of this under¬ 
taking. Nevertheless, Herschel succeeded, after long 
and painful labor, in completing a five-foot reflector, 
with which he had the gratification of observing the 
ring and satellites of Saturn. Not satisfied with his 
triumph, he proceeded to make other instruments in 
succession, of seven, ten, and even twenty feet. In con¬ 
structing the seven-foot reflector, he finished no fewer 
than two hundred specula before he produced one that 
would bear any power that was applied to it—a striking 
instance of the persevering laboriousness of the man. 
While gauging the heavens with his instruments, he 


270 


Hugh Miller . 

continued patiently to earn his bread by piping to the 
fashionable frequenters of the Pump-room- So eager 
was he in his astronomical observations, that he would 
steal away from the room during an interval of the 
performance, give a little turn at his telescope, and con¬ 
tentedly return to his oboe. Thus working away Pler- 
schel discovered the Georgium Sidus, the orbit and rate 
of motion of which he carefully calculated, and sent the 
result to the Royal Society; when the humble oboe- 
player found himself at once elevated from obscurity to 
fame. He was shortly after appointed Astronomer 
Royal, and by the kindness of George III. was placed 
in a position of honorable competency for life. He bore 
his honors with the same meekness and humility which 
had distinguished him in the days of his obscqrity. So 
gentle and patient, and withal so distinguished and suc¬ 
cessful a follower of science under difficulties, perhaps 
can not be found in the entire history of biography. 

Hugh Miller was a man of like observant faculties, 
who studied literature as well as science with zeal and 
success. While Hugh was but a child, his father, who 
was a sailor, was drowned at sea, and he was brought 
up by his widowed mother. He had a school training 
after a sort, but his best teachers were the boys with 
whom he played, the men amongst whom he worked, 
the friends and relatives with whom he lived- He read 
much and miscellaneously, and picked up odd sorts of 
knowledge from many quarters—from workmen, car¬ 
penters, fishermen, and sailors, and above all, from the 
old boulders strewed along the shores of the Cromarty 
Frith. With a big hammer which had belonged to his 


His Book of Nature. 


271 


great-grandfather, an old buccaneer, the boy went about 
chipping the stones, and accumulating specimens of 
mica, porphyry, garnet, and such like. Sometimes he 
had a day in the woods, and there, too, the boy’s atten¬ 
tion was excited by the pecular geological curiosities 
which came in his way. When of a suitable age he 
was apprenticed to the trade of his choice—that of a 
working stone-mason; and he began his laboring career 
in a quarry looking out upon the Cromarty Frith. This 
quarry proved one of his best schools. The remarkable 
geological formation which it displayed awakened his 
curiosity. The bar of deep-red stone beneath, and the 
bar of pale-red clay above, were noted by the young 
quarryman, who even in such unpromising subjects 
found matter of observation and reflection. Where 
other men saw nothing, he detected analogies, differ¬ 
ences and peculiarities, which set him thinking. He 
simply kept his eyes and his mind open; was sober, dil¬ 
igent and persevering; and this was the secret of his 
intellectual growth. 

His curiosity was excited and kept alive by the curi¬ 
ous organic remains, principally of old and extinct spe¬ 
cies of fishes, ferns, and ammonites, which were re¬ 
vealed along the coast by the washings of the waves, 
or were exposed by the stroke of his mason’s hammer. 
He never lost sight of the subject, but went on accu¬ 
mulating observations and comparing formations, until 
at length many years afterwards, when no longer a 
working mason, he gave to the world his highly inter¬ 
esting work on the Old Red Sandstone, which at once 
established his reputation as a scientific geologist. But 


272 


Robert Dick. 


this work was the fruit of long years of patient obser¬ 
vation and research. As he modestly states in his au¬ 
tobiography, “ The only merit to which I lay claim in 
the case is that of patient research—a merit in which 
whoever wills may rival or surpass me; and this hum¬ 
ble faculty of patience, when rightly developed, may 
lead to more extraordinary developments of idea than 
even genius itself.” 

Not long ago Sir Roderick Murchison discovered in 
the far north of Scotland a profound geologist, in the per¬ 
son of a baker named Robert Dick. When Sir Roder¬ 
ick called upon him at the bakehouse in which he baked 
and earned his bread, Robert Dick delineated to him, 
by means of flour upon the board, the geographical 
features and geological phenomena of his native coun¬ 
try, pointing out the imperfections in the existing maps, 
which he had ascertained by traveling over the coun¬ 
try in his leisure hours. On further inquiry, Sir Roder¬ 
ick ascertained that the humble individual before him 
was not only a capital baker and geologist, but a first- 
rate botanist. “ I found,” said the President of the 
Geographical Society, “ to my great humiliation, that the 
baker knew more of botanical science, ay, ten times 
more, than I did; and that there were only some twenty 
or thirty specimens of flowers which he had not col¬ 
lected. Some he had obtained as presents, some he had 
purchased, but the greater portion he had accumulated 
b} 7 his industry, in his native county of Caithness; and 
the specimens were all arranged in the most beautiful 
order, with their scientific names affixed.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


ENERGY AND WILL. 

“ Kites rise against, not with the wind. * * * No man ever worked his 

passage anywhere in a dead calm.”— Jno. Neal. 

HERE is a famous speech recorded of an old 
Norseman, thoroughly characteristic of the 
Teuton. “ I believe neither in idols nor de¬ 
mons,” said he, “ I put my sole trust in my own 
strength of body and soul.” The ancient crest of a 
pickaxe with the motto of “ Either I will find a way or 
make one,” was an exposition of the same sturdy inde¬ 
pendence which to this day distinguishes the descend¬ 
ants of the Northmen. Indeed nothing could be more 
characteristic of the Scandinavian mythology, than that 
it had a God with a hammer. A man’s character is 
seen in small matters; and from even so slight a test as 
the mode in which a man wields a hammer, his energy 
may in some measure be inferred. Thus an eminent 
Frenchman hit off in a single phrase the characteristic 
quality of the inhabitants of a particular district, in 
which a friend of his proposed to settle and buy land. 
“ Beware,” said he, “ of making a purchase there; I 
know the men of that department; the pupils who come 
from it to our veternary school at Paris do not strike 
hard ufon the anvil / they want energy; and you will 
18 






274 


Force of Purpose . 


not get a satisfactory return on any capital you may 
invest there.” A fine and just appreciation of charac¬ 
ter, indicating the thoughtful observer; and strikingly 
illustrative of the fact that it is the energy of the indi¬ 
vidual men that gives strength to a State, and confers a 
value even upon the very soil which they cultivate. 

The cultivation of this quality is of the greatest im¬ 
portance; resolute determination in the pursuit of 
worthy objects being the foundation of all true great¬ 
ness of character. Energy enables a man to force his 
way through irksome drudgery and dry details, and car¬ 
ries him onward and upward in every station in life. It 
accomplishes more than genius, with not one half the 
disappointment and peril. It is not eminent talent that 
is required to insure success in an}' pursuit, so much as 
purpose—not merely the power to achieve, but the will 
to labor energetically and perseveringly. Hence ener¬ 
gy of will may be defined to be the very central power 
of character in a man—in a word, it is tbe Man him¬ 
self. It gives impulse to his every action, and soul to 
every effort. True hope is based on it—and it is hope 
that gives the real perfume to life. “ Woe unto him 
that is faint-hearted,” says the son of Sirach. There is r 
indeed, no blessing equal to the possession of a stout 
heart. Even if a man fail in his efforts, it will be a sat¬ 
isfaction to him to enjoy the consciousness of having 
done his best. In humble life nothing can be more 
cheering and beautiful than to see a man combating 
suffering by patience, triumphing in his integrity, and 
who, when his feet are bleeding and his limbs failing 
him, still walks upon his courage. When Luther said 


Determined Effort . 


275 


to Erasmus, “You desire to walk upon eggs without 
crushing them, and among glasses without breaking 
them,” the timerous, hesitating Erasmus replied, “ I 
will not be unfaithful to the cause of Christ, at least so 
far as the age 'will permit me” Luther was of a very 
different character. “I will go to Worms though 
devils were combined against me as thick as the tiles 
upon the housetops.” 

Nothing that is of real worth can be achieved with¬ 
out courageous working. Man owes his growth chiefly 
to that active striving of the will, that encounter with 
difficulty which we call effort; and it is astonishing to 
find how often results apparently impracticable are 
thus made possible. An intense anticipation itself 
transforms possibility into reality; our desires being 
often but the precursors of the things which we are ca¬ 
pable of performing. On the contrary, the timid and 
hesitating find every thing impossible, chiefly because 
it seems so. It is related of a young French officer, 
that he used to walk about his apartment exclaiming, 
“I will be Marshal of France and a great general.” 
His ardent desire was the presentiment of his success; 
for the young officer did become a distinguished com¬ 
mander, and he died a Marshal of France. 

“ You are now at the age,” said Lamennais once, ad¬ 
dressing a gay youth, “ at which a decision must be 
formed by you; a little later and you may have to 
groan within the tomb which you yourself have dug, 
without the power of rolling away the stone. That 
which the easiest becomes a habit in us is the will. 
Learn, then, to will strongly and decisively; thus fix 


276 


Fovjell Buxton . 


your floating life, and leave it no longer to be carried 
hither and thither, like a withered leaf, by every wind 
that blows.” 

Buxton held the conviction that a young man might 
be very much what he pleased, provided he formed a 
strong resolution and held to it. Writing to one of his 
sons, he said to him, “You are now at that period of 
life, in which you must make a turn to the right or the 
left. You must now gi.ve proofs of principle, determi¬ 
nation, and strength of mind; or you must sink into 
idleness, and acquire the habits and character of a des¬ 
ultory, ineffective young man; and if once you fall to 
that point, you will find it no easy matter to rise again. 
I am sure that a young man may be very much what 
he pleases. In my own case it was so. Much of my 
happiness, and all my prosperity in life, have resulted 
from the change I made at your age. If you seriously 
resolve to be energetic and industrious, depend upon 
it that you will for your whole life have reason to re¬ 
joice that you were wise enough to form and to act 
upon that determination.” As will, considered with¬ 
out regard to direction, is simply constancy, firmness, 
perseverance, it will be obvious that everything de¬ 
pends upon right direction and motives. Directed to¬ 
wards the enjoyment of the senses, the strong will 
may be a demon, and the intellect merely its debased 
slave; but directed towards good, the strong will is a 
king, and the intellect the minister of man’s highest 
well-being. 

“ Where there is a will there is a way,” is an old and 
true saying. He who resolves upon doing a thing, by 


SuTvarroTv — Napoleon. 


277 


that very resolution often scales tne barriers to it, and 
secures its achievement. To think we are able, is al¬ 
most to be so—to determine upon attainment is fre¬ 
quently attainment itself. Thus, earnest resolution has 
often seemed to have about it almost a savor of omnip¬ 
otence. The strength of Suwarrow’s character lay in 
his power of willing, and, like most resolute persons, 
he preached it up as a system. “ You can only half 
will,” he would say to people who failed. Like Riche¬ 
lieu and Napoleon, he would have the word u impossi¬ 
ble ” banished from the dictionary. “ I don’t know,” 
“ I can’t,” and “ impossible,” were words which he de¬ 
tested above all others. “ Learn! Do! Try! ” he would 
exclaim. His biographer has said of him, that he 
furnished a remarkable illustration of what may be 
effected by the energetic development and exercise of 
faculties, the germs of which at least are in every hu¬ 
man heart. 

One of Napoieon’s favorite maxims was, “ The truest 
wisdom is a resolute determination.” His life, beyond 
most others, vividly showed what a powerful and un¬ 
scrupulous will could accomplish. He threw his whole 
force of body and mind direct upon his work. Imbe¬ 
cile rulers and the nations they governed went down 
before him in succession. He was told that the Alps 
stood in the way of his armies—“ There shall be no 
Alps,” he said, and the road across the Simplon was 
constructed, through a district formerly almost inac¬ 
cessible. “ Impossible,” said he, “ is a word only to be 
found in the dictionary of fools.” He was a man who 
toiled terribly; sometimes employing and exhausting 


278 Wellington 

four secretaries at a time. He spared no one, not even 
himself. His influence inspired other men, and put a 
new life into them. “ I made my generals out of mud,” 
he said. But all was of no avail; for Napoleon’s in¬ 
tense selfishness was his ruin, and the ruin of France, 
which he left a prey to anarchy. His life taught the 
lesson that power, however energetically wielded, with¬ 
out beneficience, is fatal to its possessor and its subjects; 
and that knowledge without goodness, is but the incar¬ 
nate principle of evil. 

Our own Wellington was a far greater man. Not 
less resolute, firm, and persistent, but more self-deny¬ 
ing, conscientious, and truly patriotic. Napoleon’s aim 
was “Glory;” Wellington’s watchword, like Nelson’s, 
was “Duty.” The former word, it is said, does not 
once occur in his dispatches, the latter often, but never 
accompanied by any high-sounding professions. The 
greatest difficulties could neither embarrass nor intimi< 
date Wellington; his energy invariably rising in pro¬ 
portion to the obstacles to be surmounted. The pa¬ 
tience, the firmness, the resolution, with which he bore 
through the maddening vexations and gigantic difficul¬ 
ties of the Peninsular campaigns, is, perhaps one of the 
sublimest things to be found in history. Though his 
natural temper was irritable in the extreme, his high 
sense of duty enabled him to restrain it; and to those 
about him his patience seemed absolutely inexhaustible. 
His great character stands untarnished by ambition, 
avarice, or any low passion. Though a man of pow¬ 
erful individuality, he yet displayed a great variety of 
endowment. The equal of Napoleon in generalship, 


Promptitude and Decision . 279 

he was as prompt, vigorous, and daring as Clive; as 
as wise a statesman as Cromwell; and as pure and 
high-minded as Washington. The great Wellington 
left behind him an enduring reputation, founded on 
toilsome campaigns won by skillful combination, by for¬ 
titude which nothing .could exhaust, by sublime daring; 
and perhaps by still sublimer patience. 

Energy usually displays itself in promptitude and de¬ 
cision. When Ledyard the traveler was asked by the 
African Association when he would be ready to set out 
for Africa, he immediately answered, “ To-morrow 
morning.” Blucher’s promptitude obtained for him the 
cognomen of “ Marshal Forward ” throughout the 
Prussian army. When John Jervis, afterwards Earl 
St. Vincent, was asked when he would be ready to join 
his ship, he replied “ Directly.” And when Sir Colin 
Campbell, appointed to the command of the Indian 
army, was asked when he could set out, his answer was, 
“ To-morrow ”—an earnest of his subsequent success. 
For it is rapid decision, and a similar promptitude in 
action, such as taking instant advantage of an enemy’s 
mistakes, that so often wins battles, “ At Areola,” said 
Napoleon, “ I won the battle with twenty-five horse¬ 
men. I seized a moment of lassitude, gave every man 
a trumpet, and gained the day with this handful. Two 
armies are two bodies which meet and endeavor to 
frighten each other; a moment of panic occurs, and 
that moment must be turned to advantage.” “ Every 
moment lost,” said he at another time, “ gives an op¬ 
portunity for misfortune;” and he declared that he 
beat the Austrians because they never knew the 
value of time. 


280 


Warren Hastings . 

Another great but sullied name is that of Warren 
Hastings—a man of dauntless will and untiring indus¬ 
try. His family was ancient and illustrious; but their 
vicissitudes of fortune and ill-requited loyalty in the cause 
of the Stuarts, brought them to poverty, and the fami¬ 
ly estate at Daylesford, of which they had been lords 
of the manor for hundreds of years, at length passed 
from their hands. The last Hastings of Daylesford had, 
however, presented the parish-living to his second son; 
and it was in his house, many years later, that Warren 
Hastings, his grandson, was born. The boy learned his 
letters at the village school, on the same bench with the 
children of the peasantry. He played in the fields 
which his fathers had owned; and what the loyal and 
brave Hastings of Daylesford had been was ever in the 
boy’s thoughts. His young ambition was fired, and it 
is said that one summer’s day, when only seven years 
old, as he laid him down on the bank of the stream 
which flowed through the domain, he formed in his 
mind the resolution that he would yet recover posses¬ 
sion of the family lands. It was the romantic vision of 
a boy; yet he lived to realize it. The dream became a 
passion, rooted in his very life; and he pursued his de¬ 
termination through youth up to manhood, with that 
calm but indomitable force of will which was the most 
striking peculiarity of his character. The orphan boy 
became one of the most powerful men of his time; he 
retrieved the fortunes of his line; bought back the old 
estate, and rebuilt the family mansion. 

Sir Charles Napier was another Indian leader of ex¬ 
traordinary courage and determination. He once said 


Sir Charles Napier, 281 

of the difficulties with which he was surrounded in one 
of his campaigns, “ They only make my feet go deeper 
into the ground.” His battle of Meeanee was one of 
the most extraordinary feats in history. With 2,000 
men, of whom only 400 were Europeans, he encoun¬ 
tered an army of 35,000 hardy and well-armed Beloo- 
chees. It was an act, apparently, of the most daring 
temerity, but the General had faith in himself and in his 
men. He charged the Belooch centre up a high bank 
which formed their rampart in front, and for three mor¬ 
tal hours the battle raged. Each man of that small 
force, inspired by the chief, became for the time a hero. 
The Beloochees, though twenty to* one, were driven 
back, but with their faces to the foe. It is this sort of 
pluck, tenacity, aud determined perseverance which 
wins soldiers’ battles, and„ indeed, every battle- It is 
the one neck nearer that wins the race and shows the 
blood; it is the one march more that wins the cam¬ 
paign; the five minutes’ more persistent courage that 
wins the fight- Though your force be less than anoth¬ 
er’s, you equal and outmaster your opponent if you 
continue it longer and concentrate it more. The reply 
of the Spartan father, who said to his son, when com¬ 
plaining that his sword was too short. “Add a step to 
it,” is applicable to everything in life. 

Napier took the right method of inspiring his men 
with his own heroic spirit. He worked as hard as any 
private in the ranks. “ The great art of commanding,” 
he said,. “ is to take a fare share of the work. The man 
who leads au army can not succeed unless his whole 
mind is thrown into his work. The more trouble, the 


282 


The Indian Swordsman. 


more labor must be given; the more danger, the more 
pluck must be shown, till all is overpowered.” A yoting 
officer who accompanied him in his campaigns in the 
Cutchee Hills, once said, “ When I see that old man 
incessantly on his horse, how can I be idle who am 
young and strong? I would go into a loaded cannon’s 
mouth if he ordered me.” This remark, when repeat¬ 
ed to Napier, he said was ample reward for his toils. 
The anecdote of his interview with the Indian juggler 
strikingly illustrates his cool courage, as well as his re¬ 
markable simplicity and honesty of character. On one 
occasion, after the Indian battles, a famous juggler visit¬ 
ed the camp and performed his feats before the Gen¬ 
eral, his family, and staff. Among other performances 
this man cut in two* with a stroke of his sword a lime 
or lemon placed in the hand of his assistant Napier 
thought there was some collusion between the juggler 
and his retainer. To divide by a sweep of the sword 
on a man’s hand so small an object without touching 
the flesh he believed to be impossible, though a similar 
incident is related by Scott in his romance of the 
“ Talisman.” To determine the point, the General of¬ 
fered his own hand for the experiment, and he stretched 
out his right arm. The juggler looked attentively at the 
hand and said he would not make the trial. “ I 
thought I would find you out! ” exclaimed Napier. 
“ But stop,” added the other, “ let me see your left 
hand.” The left hand was submitted, and the man then 
said firmly, “ If you will hold your arm steady I will 
perform the feat.” “ But why the left hand and not the 
right?” “Because the right is hollow to the centre, 


283 


Washington . 

and there is a risk of cutting off the thumb; the left is 
high, and the danger will be less.” Napier was star¬ 
tled. “I got frightened,” he said; u I saw it was an 
actual feat of delicate swordsmanship, and if I had not 
abused the man as I did before my staff, and challenged 
him to the trial, I honestly acknowledge I would have 
retired from the encounter. However, I put the lime 
on my hand, and held out my arm steadily. The jug¬ 
gler balanced himself, and, with a swift stroke, cut the 
lime in two pieces. I felt the edge of the sword on my 
hand as if a cold thread had been drawn across it. So 
much (he added) for the brave swordsmen of India, 
whom our fine fellows defeated at Meeanee.” 

Patriotism and nobility culminate in the life of 
Washington, the leader and deliverer of his country. 
He was one of the greatest men of the eighteenth cen¬ 
tury—not so much by his genius as by his purity and 
trustworthiness. His English descent was a goodly 
heritage. He came from an Anglian stock settled in 
the county of Durham; from thence his ancestors emi¬ 
grated to America, and settled in Virginia about the 
year 1657. 

The character of George Washington was such that 
at an early age he was appointed to positions of great 
trust and confidence. At the age of nineteen he was 
appointed one of the adjutants-general of Virginia, with 
the rank of major—nor did he ever deceive those who 
put trust in him. He was ever prompt, obedient, and 
dutiful. At the age of twenty-three he was appointed 
colonel and commander-in-chief of all the forces raised 
in Virginia for co-operation with the English troops in 


284 


Washington . 

the defense of the western territory against the French. 
He was trained not only in success, but in failure, which 
evoked his indomitable spirit. 

No man could be more pure, no man could be more 
self-denying. In victory he was self-controlled; in de¬ 
feat he was unshaken. Throughout he was magnani¬ 
mous and pure. In General Washington it is difficult 
to know which to admire the most—the nobility of his 
character, the ardor of his patriotism, or the purity of 
his conduct. 

Toward the close of his address to the Governors of 
the several States, on resigning his position of com- 
mander-in-chief, he said: “I make it my constant 
prayer, that God would have you and the State over 
which you preside in his holy protection; that he would 
incline the hearts of the citizens to cultivate a spirit of 
subordination and obedience to government; to enter¬ 
tain a brotherly affection and love for one another, for 
their fellow-citizens of the United States at large, and 
particularly for their brethren who have served in the 
field; and finally, that he would most graciously be 
pleased to dispose us all to do justice, to love mercy, 
and to demean ourselves with that charity, humility, 
and pacific temper of mind, which were the character¬ 
istics of the Divine Author of our blessed religion; 
without a humble imitation of whose example in these 
things, we can never hope to be a happy nation.” How 
simple, truthful, and beautiful are the words of Wash¬ 
ington ! 

It is not the size of a country, but the character of 
its people, that gives it sterling value. We find men 


Arnold von Winkelried, 


285 


constantly calling for liberty, but who do nothing to 
deserve it. They remain inert, lazy and selfish. There 
is a so-called patriotism that has no more dignity in it 
than the howling of wolves. True patriotism is of 
another sort. It is based on honesty, truthfulness, gen¬ 
erosity, self-sacrifice, and genuine love of freedom. 

Look for instance, at the little Republic of Switzer¬ 
land, which has been hemmed in by tyranical govern¬ 
ments for hundreds of years. But the people are brave 
and frugal, honest and self-helping. They would have 
no master, but governed themselves. They elected their 
representatives, as at Apenzell, by show of hands in the 
public market-places. They proclaimed liberty of con¬ 
science, and Switzerland, like England, has always been 
the refuge of the persecuted for conscience’ sake. 

It was not without severe struggles that Switzerland 
conquered its independence The leaders of these 
brave men have often sacrificed themselves for the good 
of their country. Take for instance, the example of 
Arnold von Winkelried. In 1481 the Austrians in¬ 
vaded Switzerland, and a comparatively small number 
of men determined to resist them. Near the little 
town of Sempach the Austrians were observed advanc¬ 
ing in a solid, compact body, presenting an unbroken 
line of spears. The Swiss met them, but their spears 
were shorter, and being much fewer in number, they' 
were compelled to give way. Observing this, Arnold 
von Winkelried, seeing that all the efforts of the Swiss 
to break the ranks of their enemy had failed, exclaim¬ 
ed to his countrymen, “ I will open a path to freedom! 
Protect, dear comrades, my wife and children!” He 


286 


Dr. Livingstone. 


rushed forward, and, gathering in his arms as many 
spears as he could grasp, he buried them in his bosom. 
He fell, but a gap was made, and the Swiss rushed in, 
and achieved an exceeding great victory. Arnold von 
Winkelried died, but saved his country. The little 
mountain republic preserved its liberty. The battle 
took place on the 9th of July, and to this day the peo¬ 
ple of the country assemble to celebrate their deliver¬ 
ance from the Austrians, through the self-sacrifice of 
their leader. 

The career of Dr. Livingstone is one of the most in¬ 
teresting. His ancestors were poor but honest High¬ 
landers, and it is related of one of them, renowned in his 
district for wisdom and prudence, that when on his 
death-bed, he called his children around him and left 
them these words, the only legacy he had to bequeath 
—“ In my life-time,” said he, “ I have searched most 
carefully through all the traditions I could find of our 
family, and I never could discover that there was a dis¬ 
honest man among our forefathers; if, therefore, any of 
you or any of your children should take to dishonest 
ways, it will not be because it runs in our blood; it does 
not belong to you: I leave this precept with you—Be 
honest.” At the age of ten Livingstone was sent to 
work in a cotton-factory near Glasgow as a u piecer.” 
With part of his first week’s wages he bought a Latin 
grammar, and began to learn that language, pursuing 
the study for years at a night-school. He would sit up 
conning his lessons till twelve or later, when not sent to 
bed by his mother, for he had to be up and at work in 
the factory every morning by six. In this way he plod- 


Dr. Livingstone's Studies . 287 

ded through Virgil and Horace, also reading exten¬ 
sively all books, excepting novels, that came in his 
way, but more especially scientific works and books 
of travels. He occupied his spare hours, which were 
but few, in the pursuit of botany, scouring the neigh 
borhood to collect plants. He even carried on his c 
reading amidst the roar of the factory machinery, so ‘ 
placing the book upon the spinning-jenny which he 
worked that he could catch sentence after sentence as 
he passed it. In this way the persevering youth ac¬ 
quired much useful knowledge; and as he grew older, 
the desire possessed him of becoming a missionary to 
the heathen. With this object he set himself to obtain 
a medical education, in order the better to be qualified 
for the work. He accordingly economized his earnings, 
and saved as much money as enabled him to support 
himself while attending the Medical and Greek classes, 
as well as the Divinity Lectures, at Glasgow, for sev¬ 
eral winters, working as a cotton-spinner during the 
remainder of each year. He thus supported himself, 
during his college career, entirely by his own earnings 
as a factory workman, never having received a farthing 
of help from any source- “ Looking back now,” he 
honestly says, “ at that life of toil, I can not but feel 
thankful that it formed such a material part of my early 
education; and, were it possible, I should like to be¬ 
gin life over again in the same lowly style, and to pass 
through the same hardy training.” At first he thought 
of going to China, but the war then waging with that 
country prevented his following out the idea; and hav¬ 
ing offered his services to the London Missionary So- 


288 


John Howard. 

ciety, he was by them sent out to Africa, which he 
reached in 1840. He had intended to proceed to China 
by his own efforts; and he says the only pang he had 
in going to Africa at the charge of the London Mis¬ 
sionary Society was, because “ it was not quite agreea¬ 
ble to one accustomed to work his own way to become, 
in a manner, dependent upon others.’ 7 Arrived in 
Africa, he set to work with great zeal. He could not 
brook the idea of merely entering upon the labors of 
others, but cut out a large sphere of independent work, 
preparing himself for it by undertaking manual labor 
in building and other handicraft employment, in addi¬ 
tion to teaching, which, he says, “ made me generally 
as much exhausted and unfit for study in the evenings 
as ever I had been when a cotton spinner.’ 7 Whilst 
laboring amongst the Bechuanas, he dug canals, built 
houses, cultivated fields, reared cattle, and taught the 
natives to work as well as worship. 

John Howard was another of the many patient and 
persevering men who have made England what it is— 
content simply to do with energy the work they have 
been appointed to do, and to go to their rest thankfully 
when it is done— 

u Leaving no memorial but a world 
Made better by their lives.'’ 

His sublime life proved that even physical weakness 
could remove mountains in the pursuit of an end rec¬ 
ommended by duty. The idea of ameliorating the con¬ 
dition of prisoners engrossed his whole thoughts and 
possessed him like a passion, and no toil nor danger, 
nor bodily suffering could turn him from that great 


Andrew Marvell. 


289 


object of his life. Though a man of no genius and but 
moderate talent, his heart was pure and his will was 
strong. Even in his own time he achieved a remark¬ 
able degree of success; and his influence did not die 
with him, for it has continued powerfully to affect not 
only the legislation of England, but of all civilized na¬ 
tions, down to the present hour. 

Andrew Marvell was a patriot of the old Roman 
build. He lived in troublous times. He was born at 
Hull at the beginning of the reign of Charles I. When 
a young man, he spent four years at Trinity College, 
Cambridge. He afterwards traveled through Europe. 
In Italy he met Milton, and continued his friend through 
life. On his return to England the civil war was raging. 
It does not appear that he took any part in the struggle, 
though he was always a defender and promoter of lib¬ 
erty. In 1660 he was elected member of Parliament 
for his native town, and during his membership he 
wrote to the mayor and his constituents by almost every 
post, telling them of the course of affairs in Parliament. 
Marvell did not sympathize with Milton’s anti-monarchi¬ 
cal tendencies. His biographer styles him “the friend 
of England,' Liberty and Magna Charta.” He had no 
objections to a properly restricted monarchy, and there¬ 
fore favored the restoration. The people longed for it, 
believing that the return of Charles II. would prove the 
restoration of peace and loyalty. They were much 
mistaken. Marvell was appointed to accompany Lord 
Carlisle on an embassy to Russia, showing that he was 
not reckoned an enemy to the court. During his ab¬ 
sence much evil had been done. The restored king 


19 


290 


Marvell's Integrity . 


was constantly in want of money. He took every 
method, by selling places and instituting monopolies, 
to supply his perpetual need. In one of Marvell’s letters 
to his constituents he said, “The court is at the highest 
pitch of want and luxury, and the people are full ot dis¬ 
content.” 

The king continued to raise money unscrupulously, by 
means of his courtiers and apostate patriots. He 
bought them up by bribes of thousands of pounds. But 
Marvell was not to be bought. His satires upon the 
court and its parasites were published. They were read 
by all classes, from the king to the tradesman. The 
king determined to win him over. He was threatened, 
he was flattered, he was thwarted, he was caressed, he 
was beset with spies, he was waylaid by ruffians, and 
courted by beauties. But no Delilah could discover the 
secret of his strength. His integrity was proof alike 
against danger and against corruption. Against threats 
and bribes, pride is the ally of principle. In a court 
which held no man to be honest, and no woman chaste, 
this soft sorcery was cultivated to perfection; but Mar¬ 
vell, revering and respecting himself, was proof against 
its charms. 

It has been said that Lord Treasurer Danby, think¬ 
ing to buy over his old school-fellow, called upon Mar¬ 
vell in his garret. At parting the lord treasurer slipped 
into his hand an order on the treasury for $5,000, and 
then went to his chariot. Marvell, looking at the pa¬ 
per, calls after the treasurer, “ My lord, I request an¬ 
other moment.” They went up again to the garret, and 
Jack, the servant-boy, was called. “Jack, child, what 


Buxton. 


291 


had I for dinner yesterday? ” “ Don’t you remember, 

sir? you had the little shoulder of mutton that you or¬ 
dered me to bring from a woman in the market.” 
“ Very right, child. What have I for dinner to-day? ” 
Don’t you know, sir, that you bid me lay by the blade- 
bone to broil? 11 u ’Tis so, very right, child; go away.” 
“ My lord, said Marvell, turning to the treasurer, “ do 
you hear that? Andrew Marvell’s dinner is provided; 
there’s your piece of paper. I want it not. I knew 
the sort of kindness you intended. I live here to serve 
my constituents; the ministry may seek men for their 
purpose; I am not one.” 

Buxton was a dull, heavy boy, distinguished for his 
strong self-will, which first exhibited itself in violent, 
domineering, and headstrong obstinacy. His father died 
when he was a child; but fortunately he had a wise 
mother, who trained his will with great care, constrain¬ 
ing him to obey, but encouraging the habit of deciding 
and acting for himself in matters which might safely be 
left to him. His mother believed that a strong will, di¬ 
rected upon worthy objects, was a valuable manly qual¬ 
ity if properly guided, and she acted accordingly. 
When others about her commented on the boy’s self- 
will, she would merely say, “ Never mind—he is self- 
willed now—you will see it will turn out well in the 
end.” Fowell learned very little at school, and was re¬ 
garded as a dunce and an idler. He got other boys to 
do his exercises for him, while he romped and scram¬ 
bled about. He returned home at fifteen, a great, grow¬ 
ing, awkward lad, fond only of boating, shooting, rid¬ 
ing, and field-sports—spending his time principally with 


292 


Buxton's Energy of Character . 

the game-keeper, a man possessed of a good heart, an 
intelligent observer of life and nature, though he could 
neither read nor write. Buxton had excellent raw ma 
terial in him, but he wanted culture, training and devel 
opment. At this juncture of his life,-when his habits 
were being formed for good or evil, he was happily 
thrown into the society of the Gurney family, distin¬ 
guished for their fine social qualities not less than for 
their intellectual culture and public spirited philanthro¬ 
py* This intercourse with the Gurneys, he used after 
wards to say gave the coloring to his life They en¬ 
couraged his efforts at self-culture; and when he went 
to the University of Dublin and gained high honors 
there, the animating passion in his mind, he said, u was 
to carry back to them the prizes which they prompted 
and enabled him to win. ” He married one of the 
daughters of the family and started in life, commenc¬ 
ing as a clerk. His power of will, which made him so 
difficult to deal with as a boy, now formed the back¬ 
bone of his character, and made him most industrious 
and energetic in whatever he undertook. He threw his 
whole strength and bulk right down upon his work; and 
the great giant— u Elephant Buxton they called him, 
for he stood some six feet four in height—Became one 
of the most vigorous and practical of men. There was 
invincible energy and determination in whatever he did. 
Admitted a partner, he became the active manager of 
the concern; and the vast business which he conducted 
felt his influence through every fibre, and prospered far 
beyond its previous success. Nor did he allow his mind 
to lie fallow, for he gave his evenings dilligently to self- 


Buxton ''s Determ ination. 


293 


culture, studying and digesting Blackstone, Montes¬ 
quieu, and solid commentaries on English law. His 
maxims in reading were, “ never to begin a book with¬ 
out finishing it;” “never to consider a book finished 
until it is mastered; ” and “ to study everything with the 
whole mind. ” When only thirty-two Buxton entered 
Parliament, and at once assumed that position of influ¬ 
ence there of which every honest, earnest, well-informed 
man is secure, who enters that assembly 

Buxton was no genius—not a great intellectual lead¬ 
er nor discoveror, but mainly an earnest, straightfor¬ 
ward, resolute, energetic man. Indeed, his whole char¬ 
acter is most forcibly expressed in his own words, which 
every young man might well stamp upon his soul: 
“The longer I live,’’said he, “the more I am certain 
that the great difference between men, between the 
feeble and the powerful, the great and the insignificant, 
is energy—invincible deiermincitio 7 i —a purpose once 
fixed, and then death or victory! That quality will do 
any thing that can be done in this world; and no tal¬ 
ents, no circumstances, no opportunities, will make a 
two legged creature a Man without it.” 



CHAPTER XII. 


SELF-CULTURE—FACILITIES AND DIFFI¬ 
CULTIES. 


“ Every person has two educations, one which he receives from others, and 
one, more important, which he gives to himself.’’—G ibbon. 

“ Is there one whom difficulties dishearten—who bends to the storm? He 
will do little. Is there one who will conquer? That kind of man never fails.’’' 
—John Hunter. 

HE best part of man’s education,” said Sir 
Walter Scott, “is that which he gives to 
himself.” The late Sir Benjamin Brodie 
delighted to remember this saying, and he 
used to congratulate himself on the fact that profes¬ 
sionally he was self-tauglit. But this is necessarily the 
case with all men who have acquired distinction in let¬ 
ters, science, or art. The education received at school 
or college is but a beginning, and is valuable mainly 
inasmuch as it trains the mind and habituates it to con¬ 
tinuous application and study. That which is put into 
us by others is always far less ours than that which we 
acquire by our own diligent and persevering effort. 
Knowledge conquered by labor becomes a possession— 
a property entirely our own. Our own active effort is 
the essential thing; and no facilities, no books, no teach¬ 
ers, no amount of lessons learnt by rote will enable us 
to dispense with it. 









Importance of Self culture. 


295 


The best teachers have been the readiest to recog¬ 
nize the importance of self-culture, and of stimulating the 
student to acquire knowledge by the active exercise of 
his own faculties. They have relied more upon train¬ 
ing than upon telling , and sought to make their pupils 
themselves active parties to the work in which they 
were engaged; thus making teaching something far 
higher than the mere passive reception of the scraps and 
details of knowledge. This was the spirit in which the 
great Dr. Arnold worked; he strove to teach his pupils 
to rely upon themselves, and develop their powers by 
their own active efforts, himself merely guiding, direct¬ 
ing, stimulating, and encouraging them. “ I would far 
rather,” he said, “ send a boy to Van Dieman’s Land, 
where he must work for his bread, than send him to 
Oxford to live in luxury, without any desire in his mind 
to avail himself of his advantages.” “ If there be one 
thing on earth,” he observed on another occasion, 
“which is truly admirable, it is to see God’s wisdom 
blessing an inferiority of natural powers, when they 
have been honestly, truly, and zealously cultivated.” 
Speaking of a pupil of this character, he said, “I would 
stand to that man hat in hand.” Once at Laleham, 
when teaching a rather dull boy, Arnold spoke some¬ 
what sharply to him, on which the pupil looked up in 
his face and said, “ Why do you speak angrily, sir? 
indeed I am doing the best I can.” Years afterwards, 
Arnold used to tell the story to his children, and added, 
“ I never felt so much in my life—that look and that 
speech I have never forgotten.” 

Practical success in life depends more upon physical 


296 


Education in Mechanics . 


health than is generally imagined. Hodson, writing 
home to a friend in England, said, “ I believe if I get 
on well in India, it will be owing, physically speaking, 
to a sound digestion.” The use of early labor in self- 
imposed mechanical employments may be illustrated by 
the boyhood of Sir Isaac Newton. Though compara¬ 
tively a dull scholar, he was very assiduous in the use 
of his saw, hammer, and hatchet—“ knocking and ham¬ 
mering in his lodging room ”—making models of wind¬ 
mills, carriages, and machines of all sorts; and as he 
grew older, he took delight in making little tables and 
cupboards for his friends. Smeaton, Watt, and Ste¬ 
phenson, were equally handy with tools when mere 
boys; and but for such kind of self-culture in their 
youth, it is doubtful whether they would have accom¬ 
plished so much in their manhood. Such was also the 
early training of the great inventors and mechanics de¬ 
scribed in the preceding pages, whose contrivance and 
intelligence were practically trained by the constant use 
of their hands in early life. Elihu Burritt says he found 
hard labor necessary to enable him to study with effect; 
and more than once he gave up school-teaching and 
study, and, taking to his leather apron again, went back 
to his blacksmith’s forge and anvil for his health of 
body and mind’s sake. 

The training of young men in the use of tools would, 
at the same time that it educated them in “ common 
things,” teach them the use of their hands and arms, 
familiarize them with healthy work, exercise their fac¬ 
ulties upon things tangible and actual, give them some 
practical acquaintance with mechanics, impart to them 


Sustain ed A pplication . 


297 


the ability of being useful, and implant in them the 
habit of persevering physical effort. This is an advan¬ 
tage which the working classes, strictly so called, cer¬ 
tainly possess over the leisure classes—that they are in 
early life under the necessity of applying themselves 
laboriously to some mechanical pursuit or other—thus 
acquiring manual dexterity and the use of their physi¬ 
cal powers. The chief disadvantage attached to the 
calling of the laborious classes is, not that they are em¬ 
ployed in physical work, but that they are too exclu¬ 
sively so employed, often to the neglect of their moral 
and intellectual faculties. While the youths of the leis¬ 
ure classes, having been taught to associate labor with 
servility, have shunned it, and been allowed to grow up 
practically ignorant, the poorer classes, confining them¬ 
selves within the circle of their laborious callings, have 
been allowed to grow up, in a large proportion of cases, 
absolutely illiterate. It seems possible, however, to 
avoid both these evils by combining physical training 
or physical work with intellectual culture, and there 
are various signs abroad which seem to mark the 
gradual adoption of this healthier system of education. 

While it is necessary, then, in the first place to secure 
this solid foundation of physical health, it must also be 
observed that the cultivation of the habit of mental 
application is quite indispensable for the education of 
the student. The maxim that “ Labor conquers all 
things,” holds especially true in the case of the con¬ 
quest of knowledge. The road into learning is alike 
free to all who will give the labor and the study requisite 
to gather it; nor are there any difficulties so great that 


298 


Well-directed Labor . 


the student of resolute purpose may not surmount and 
overcome them. It was one of the characteristic ex¬ 
pressions of Chatterton, that God had sent his creatures 
into the world with arms long enough to reach any 
thing if they chose to be at the trouble. In study, as. 
in business, energy is the great thing. We must not 
only strike the iron while it is hot, but strike it till it is 
made hot. It is astonishing how much may be accom¬ 
plished in self-culture by the energetic and the persever¬ 
ing, who are careful to avail themselves of opportuni¬ 
ties, and use up the fragments of spare time which the 
idle permit to run to waste. Thus Ferguson learned 
astronomy from the heavens while wrapt in a sheep¬ 
skin on the highland hills. Thus Stone learned mathe¬ 
matics while working as a journeyman gardener; thus 
Drew studied the highest philosophy in the intervals 
of cobbling shoes; and thus Miller taught himself geol¬ 
ogy while working as a day-laborer in a quarry. 

Sir Joshua Reynolds, as we have already observed,, 
was so earnest a believer in the force of industry, that 
he held that all men might achieve excellence if they 
would but exercise the power of assiduous and patient 
working. He held that drudgery lay on the road to 
genius, and that there was no limit to the proficiency of 
an artist except the limit of his own painstaking. He 
would not believe in what is called inspiration, but only 
in study and labor. “ Excellence,” he said, “ is never 
granted to man but as the reward of labor.” “ If you 
have great talents, industry will improve them; if you 
have but moderate abilities, industry will supply their 
deficiency. Nothing is denied to well-directed labor; 


299 


Thoroughness and Accuracy. 

nothing is to be obtained without it.” Sir Fowell Bux¬ 
ton was an equal believer in the power of study; and 
he entertained the modest idea that he could do as well 
as other men if he devoted to the pursuit double the 
time and labor that they did. He placed his great con¬ 
fidence in ordinary means and extraordinary applica¬ 
tion. 

Thoroughness and accuracy are two principal points 
to be aimed at in study. Francis Horner, in laying 
down rules for the cultivation of his mind, placed great 
stress upon the habit of continuous application to one 
subject for the sake of mastering it thoroughly; he con¬ 
fined himself with this object to only a few books, and 
resisted with the greatest firmness “ every approach to 
a habit of desultory reading.” The value of knowl¬ 
edge to any man consists not in its quantity, but mainly 
in the good uses to which he can apply it. Hence a lit¬ 
tle knowledge of an exact and perfect character, is al¬ 
ways found more valuable for practical purposes than 
any extent of superficial learning, 

One of Ignatius Loyola’s maxims was, u He who 
does well one work at a time, does more than all.” 
By spreading our efforts over too large a surface we 
inevitably weaken our force, hinder our progress, and 
acquire a habit of fitfulness and ineffective working. 
Lord St. Leonards once communicated to Sir Fowell 
Buxton the mode in which he had conducted his studies, 
and thus explained the secret of his success: “I re¬ 
solved,” said he, “ when beginning to read law, to make 
everything I acquired perfectly my own, and never to 
go to a second thing till I had entirely accomplished the 


300 Relying ufon Resources. 

first. Many of my competitors read as much in a da)’ 
as I read in a week; but, at the end of twelvemonths, 
my knowledge was as fresh as the day it was acquired, 
while theirs had glided away from recollection. It is 
not the quantity of study that one gets through, or the 
amount of reading, that makes a wise man; but the 
appositeness of the study to the purpose for which it is 
pursued; the concentration of the mind, for the time be¬ 
ing, on the subject under consideration; and the habitual 
discipline by which the whole system of mental appli¬ 
cation is regulated. The most profitable study is that 
which is conducted with a definite aim and object. By 
thoroughly mastering any given branch of knowledge 
we render it more available for use at any moment. 
Hence it is not enough merely to have books, or to 
know where to read for information as we want it. 
Practical wisdom, for the purposes of life, must be car¬ 
ried about with us, and be ready for use at call. It is 
not sufficient that we have a fund laid up at home, 
but not a farthing in the pocket: we must carry about 
with us a store of the current coin of knoledge ready, 
for exchange on all occasions, else we are compara¬ 
tively helpless when the opportunity for using it oc 
curs. 

Decision and promptitude are as requisite in self-cul¬ 
ture as in business. The growth of these qualities may 
be encouraged by accustoming young people to rely 
upon their own resources, leaving them to enjoy as 
much freedom of action in early life as is practicable. 
Too much guidance and restraint hinder the formation 
of habits of self-help. They are like bladders tied un- 


301 


The Right Use of Knowledge . 

der the arms of one who has not taught himself to swim. 
Want of confidence is perhaps a greater obstacle to im¬ 
provement than is generally imagined. Dr. Johnson was 
accustomed to attribute his success to confidence in his 
own powers. True modesty is quite compatible with 
a due estimate of one’s own merits, and does not de¬ 
mand the abnegation of all merit. Though there are 
those who deceive themselves by putting a false figure 
before their ciphers, the want of confidence, the want of 
faith in one’s self, and consequently the want of prompti¬ 
tude in action, is a defect of character which is found to 
stand very much in the way of individual progress; and 
the reason why so little is done, is generally because so 
little is attempted. 

It is the use we make of the powers intrusted to us, 
which constitutes our only just claim to respect. He 
who employs his one talent aright is as much to be hon¬ 
ored as he to whom ten talents have been given. There 
is really no more personal merit attaching to the pos¬ 
session of superior intellectual powers than there is in 
the succession to a large estate. How are those pow¬ 
ers used—how is that estate employed? The mind 
may accumulate large stores of knowledge without any 
useful purpose; but the knowledge must be allied to 
goodness and wisdom, and embodied in upright charac¬ 
ter, else it is naught. Pestalozzi even held intellectual 
training by itself to be pernicious; insisting that the 
roots of all knowledge must strike and feed in the soil 
of the rightly-governed will. The acquisition of knowl¬ 
edge may, it is true, protect a man against the meaner 
felonies of life; but not in any degree against its selfish 


302 


Learning and Wisdom. 


vices, unless fortified by sound principles and habits. 
Hence do we find in daily life so many instances of men 
who are well-informed in intellect, but utterly deformed 
in character; filled with the learning of the schools, yet 
possessing little practical wisdom, and offering exam¬ 
ples for warning rather than imitation. An often 
quoted expression at this day is that “ Knowledge is 
power;” but so, also, are fanaticism, despotism, and 
ambition. Knowledge of itself, unless wisely directed, 
might merely make bad men more dangerous, and the 
society in which it was regarded as the highest good, 
little better than a pandemonium. 

It is also to be borne in mind that the experience 
gathered from books, though often valuable, is but of 
the nature of learning; whereas the experience gained 
from actual life is of the nature of wisdom; and 
a small store of the latter is worth vastly more 
than any stock of the former. Lord Bolingbroke 
truly said that “ Whatever study tends neither di¬ 
rectly nor indirectly to make us better men and 
citizens, is at best but a specious and ingenious 
sort of idleness, and the knowledge we acquire by it 
only a creditable kind of ignorance—nothing more.” 

Useful and instructive though good reading may be, 
it is yet only one mode of cultivating the mind; and is 
much less influential than practical experience and good 
example in the formation of character. There were 
wise, valiant, and true-hearted men bred in England, 
long before the existence of a reading public. Mtigna 
Charta was secured by men who signed the deed with 
their marks. Though altogether unskilled in the art 


Learning and Character . 


303 


of deciphering the literary signs by which principles 
were denominated upon paper, yet they understood 
and appreciated, and boldly contended for, the things 
themselves. Thus the foundations of English liberty 
were laid by men who, though illiterate, were neverthe¬ 
less of the very highest stamp of character. And it 
must be admitted that the chief object of culture is, 
not merely to fill the mind with other men’s thoughts, 
and to be the passive recipient of their impressions of 
things, but to enlarge our individual intelligence, and 
render us more useful and efficient workers in the sphere 
of life to which we may be called. Many of our most 
energetic and useful workers have been but sparing 
readers. Brindley and Stephenson did not learn to 
read and write until they reached manhood, and yet 
they did great works and lived manly lives; John 
Hunter could barely read or write when he was twenty 
years old, though he could make tables and chairs with 
any carpenter in the trade. When told that one of his 
contemporaries had charged him with being ignorant 
of the dead languages, he said, “ I would undertake to 
teach him that on the dead body which he never knew 
in any language, dead or living.” 

It is not then how much a man may know, that is 
of importance, but the end and purpose for which he 
knows it. The object of knowledge should be to ma¬ 
ture wisdom and improve character, to render us bet¬ 
ter, happier, and more useful; more benevolent, more 
energetic, and more efficient in the pursuit of every 
high purpose in life. “ When people once fall into the 
habit of admiring and encouraging ability as such, 


304 


Self-respect. 


without reference to moral character they are on the 
highway to all sorts of degradation. We must our¬ 
selves be and do , and not rest satisfied merely with 
reading and meditating over what other men have been 
and done. Our best light must be made life, and our 
best thought action. At least we ought to be able to- 
say, as Richter did, “ I have made as much out of my¬ 
self as could be made of the stuff, and no man should 
require more;” for it is every man’s duty to discipline 
and guide himself, with God’s help, according to his 
responsibilities and the faculties with which he has been 
endowed. 

Self-respect is the noblest garment with which a man 
may clothe himself—the most elevating feeling with 
which the mind can be inspired. One of Pythagoras’s 
wisest maxims, in his “ Golden Verses,” is that with 
which he enjoins the pupil to “ reverence himself.” 
Borne up by this high idea, he will not defile his body 
by sensuality, nor his mind by servile thoughts. This 
sentiment, carried into daily life, will be. found at the 
root of all the virtues—cleanliness, sobriety, chastity, 
morality, and religion. “ The pious and just honoring 
of ourselves,” said Milton, “ may be thought the radi¬ 
cal moisture and fountain-head from whence every laud¬ 
able and worthy enterprise issues forth.” To think 
meanly of one’s self, is to sink in one’s own estimation 
as well as in the estimation of others. And as the 
thoughts are, so will the acts be. Man can not aspire 
if he look down; if he will rise, he must look up. The 
very humblest may be sustained by the proper indul¬ 
gence of this feeling. Poverty itself may be lifted and 


Knowledge as a Means of Rising . 305 

lighted up by self-respect; and it is truly a noble sight 
to see a poor man hold himself upright amidst his temp¬ 
tations, and refuse to demean himself by low actions. 

Self-culture may not, however, end in eminence, as in 
the numerous Instances above cited. The great ma¬ 
jority of men, in all times, however enlightened, must 
necessarily be engaged in the ordinary avocations of 
industry; and no degree of culture which can be con¬ 
ferred upon the community at large will ever enable 
them—even were it desirable, which it is not—to get 
rid of the daily work of society, which must be done. 
But this, we think, may also be accomplished. We can 
elevate the condition of labor by allying it to noble 
thoughts, which confer a grace upon the lowliest as well 
as the highest rank. For no matter how poor or hum¬ 
ble a man may be, the great thinker of this and other 
days may come in and sit down with him, and be his 
companion for the time, though his dwelling be the 
meanest hut. It is thus that the habit of well-directed 
reading may become a source of the greatest pleasure 
and self-improvement, and exercise a gentle coercion, 
with the most beneficial results, over the whole tenor 
of a man’s character and conduct. And even though 
self-culture may not bring wealth, it will at all events 
give one the companionship of elevated thoughts. A 
nobleman once contemptuously asked of a sage, “ What 
have you got by all your philosophy? ” “At least I 
have got society in myself,” was the wise man’s reply. 

But many are apt to feel despondent, and become 
discouraged in the work of self-culture, because they 
do not “ get on ” in the world so fast as they think 


20 


306 Low View of Self culture. 

they deserve to do. Having planted their acorn, they 
expect to see it grow into an oak at once. They have 
perhaps looked upon knowledge in the light of a mar¬ 
ketable commodity, and are consequently mortified be¬ 
cause it does not sell as they expected it would do. 
Mr. Tremenheere, in one of his “ Education Reports,” 
states that a schoolmaster in Norfolk, finding his school 
rapidly falling off, made inquiry into the cause, and as¬ 
certained that the reason given by the majority of the 
parents for withdrawing their children was, that they 
had expected “ education was to make them better off 
than they were before,” but that having found it had 
“ done them no good,” they had taken their children 
from school, and would give themselves no further 
trouble about education! 

The same low idea of self-culture is but too prevalent 
in other classes, and is encouraged by the false views 
of life which are always more or less current in society. 
But to regard self culture either as a means of getting 
past others in the world, or of intellectual dissipation 
and amusement, rather than as a power to elevate the 
character and expand the spiritual nature, is to place it 
on a very low level. To use the words of Bacon, 
“ Knowledge is not a shop for profit or sale, but a rich 
store-house for the glory of the Creator and the relief 
of man’s estate.” It is doubtless most honorable for a 
man to labor to elevate himself, and to better his con¬ 
dition in society, but this is not to be done at the sac¬ 
rifice of himself. To make the mind the mere drudge 
of the body, is putting it to a very servile use; and to 
go about whining and bemoaning our pitiful lot be- 


Pursuit of Pleasure . 307 

cause we fail in achieving that success in life which, 
after all, depends rather upon habits of industry and 
attention to business details than upon knowledge, is 
the mark of a small, and often of a sour mind. Such 
a temper can not better be reproved than in the words 
of Robert Southey, who thus wrote to a friend who 
sought his counsel: “I would give you advice if it 
could be of use; but there is no curing those who choose 
to be diseased. A good and wise man may at times 
be angry with the world, at times grieved for it; but 
be sure no man was ever discontented with the world 
if he did his duty in it. If a man of education, who 
has health, eyes, hands, and leisure, wants an object, 
it is only because God Almighty has bestowed all those 
blessings upon a man who does not deserve them.” 

Amusement in moderation is wholesome, and to be 
commended; but amusement in excess vitiates the whole 
nature, and is a thing to be carefully guarded against. 
The maxim is often quoted of “ All work and no play 
makes Jack a dull boy;” but all play and no work 
makes him something greatly worse. Nothing can be 
more hurtful to a youth than to have his soul surfeited 
with pleasure. The best qualities of his mind are im¬ 
paired; common enjoyments become tasteless; his ap¬ 
petite for the higher kind of pleasure is vitiated; and 
when he comes to face the work and the duties of life, 
the result is usually aversion and disgust. “ Fast ” 
men waste and exhaust the powers of life, and dry up 
the sources of true happinesss. Having forestalled their 
spring, they can produce no healthy growth of either 
character or intellect. A child without simplicity, a 


308 


Robert NicolL 


maiden without innocence, a boy without truthfulness, 
are not more piteous sights than the man who has 
wasted and thrown away his youth in self-indulgence. 
Mirabeau said of himself, “ My early years have already 
in a great measure disinherited the succeeding ones, and 
dissipated a great part of my vital powers.” As the 
wrong done to another to-day returns upon ouselves to¬ 
morrow, so the sins of our youth rise up in our age to 
scourge us. “ I assure you,” wrote Giusti the Italian to 
a friend, “ I pay a heavy price for existence. It is true 
that our lives are not at our own disposal. Nature pre¬ 
tends to give them gratis at the beginning, and then 
sends in her account.” The worst of youthful indiscre¬ 
tions is not that they destroy health, so much as that 
they sully manhood. The dissipated youth becomes a 
tainted man; and often he can not be pure, even if he 
would. If cure there be, it is only to be found in 
inoculating the mind with a fervent spirit of duty, 
and in energetic application to useful work. 

Robert Nicoll wrote to a friend, after reading the 
“ Recollections of Coleridge,” “ What a mighty intel¬ 
lect was lost in that man for want of a little energy—a 
little determination! ” Nicoll himself was a true and 
brave spirit, who died young, but not before he had en¬ 
countered and overcome great difficulties in life. At 
his outset, while carrying on a small business as a 
bookseller, he found himself weighed down with a debt 
of only twenty pounds, which he said he felt “ weighing 
like a millstone round his neck,” and that “ if he had it 
paid he never would borrow again from mortal man.” 
Writing to his mother at the time he said, “ Fear not 


Wisdom Learned from Failure . 809 

for me, dear mother, for I feel myself daily growing 
firmer and more hopeful in spirit.. The more I think 
and reflect—and thinking, not reading, is now my occu¬ 
pation—I feel that, whether I be growing richer or not, 
I am growing a wiser man, which is far better. Pain, 
poverty, and all the other wild beasts in life which so 
frighten others, I am so bold as to think I could look 
in the face without shrinking, without losing respect for 
myself, faith in man’s high destinies, or trust in God. 
There is a point which it costs much mental toil and 
struggling to gain, but which, when once gained, a man 
can look down from, as a traveler from a lofty moun¬ 
tain, on storms raging below, while he is walking in 
sunshine. That I have yet gained this point in life I 
will not say, but I feel myself daily nearer to it.” 

It is not ease, but effort—not facility, but difficulty, 
that makes men. There is, perhaps, no station in life, 
in which difficulties have not to be encountered and 
overcome before any decided measure of success can 
be achieved. Those difficulties are, however, our best 
instructors, as our mistakes are often our best experience. 
Charles James Fox was accustomed to say that he 
hoped more from a man who failed, and yet went on in 
spite of his failure, than from the buoyant career of the 
successful. “ It is all very well, said he, “to tell me 
that a young man has distinguished himself by a bril¬ 
liant first speech. He may go on, or he may be satis¬ 
fied with his first triumph; but show me a young man 
who has not succeeded at first, and nevertheless has 
gone on, and I will back that young man to do better 
than most of those who have succeeded at the first 
trial.” 


310 


Uses of Difficulty. 


We learn wisdom from failure much more than from 
success. We often discover what 'voill do by finding 
out what will not do; and probably he who never made 
a mistake never made a discovery It was the failure 
in the attempt to make a sucking-pump act, when the 
working bucket was more than thirty-three feet above 
the surface of the water to be raised, that led observ- 
ent men to study the law of atmospheric pressure, and 
opened a new field of research to the genius of Galileo, 
Torrecelli, and Boyle. John Hunter used to remark 
that the art of surgery would not advance until pro¬ 
fessional men had the courage to publish their failures 
as well as their successes. Watt the engineer said, of 
all things most wanted in mechanical engineering was 
a history of failures. “We want,” he said, “ a book of 
blots.” When Sir Humphrey Davy was once shown a 
dexterously manipulated experiment, he said—“I thank 
God I was not made a dexterous manipulator, for the 
most important of my discoveries have been suggested 
to me by failures.” Another distinguished investigator 
in physical science has left it on record that, whenever 
in the course of his researches he encountered an ap¬ 
parently insuperable obstacle, he generally found him¬ 
self on the brink of some discovery The very greatest 
things—great thoughts, great discoveries, inventions— 
have usually been nurtured in hardship, often pond¬ 
ered over in sorrow, and at length established with dif¬ 
ficulty. 

Beethoven said of Rossini, that he had in him the stuff 
to have made a good musician if he had only, when a 
boy, been well flogged; but that he had been spoilt 


Adversity and Prosperity. 311 

by the facility with which he produced. Men who 
feel their strength within them need not fear to en¬ 
counter adverse opinions; they have far greater rea¬ 
son to fear undue praise and too friendly criticism. 
When Mendelssohn was about to enter the orchestra 
at Birmingham, on the first performance of his u Elijah,” 
he said laughingly to one of his friends and critics, u stick 
your claws into me! Don’t tell me what you like, but 
what you don’t like! ” 

It has been said, and truly, that it is the defeat that 
tries the general more than the victory. Washington 
lost more battles than he gained; but he succeeded in 
the end. The Romans, in their most victorious cam¬ 
paigns, almost invariably began with defeats. Mo¬ 
reau used to be compared by his companions to a drum, 
which nobody hears of except it be beaten. Welling¬ 
ton’s military genius was perfected by encounter with 
difficulties of apparently the most overwhelming char¬ 
acter, but which only served to move his resolution, and 
bring out more prominently his great qualities as a man 
and a general. So the skillful mariner obtains his best 
experience amidst storms and tempests, which train 
him to self-reliance, courage, and the highest disci¬ 
pline; and we probably owe to rough seas and wintry 
nights the best training of the race of British sea¬ 
men, who are certainly not surpassed by an}’ in the 
world. 

“ Sweet indeed are the uses of adversity.” They re¬ 
veal to us our powers, and call forth our energies. If 
there be real worth in the character, like sweet herbs, 
it will give forth its finest fragrance when pressed. 


312 The School of Difficult *' the Best School. 

“Crosses,” says the old proverb, “are the ladders that 
lead to heaven.” “What is even poverty itself,” asks 
Richter, “that a man should murmur under it? It is 
but as the pain of piercing a maiden’s ear, and you 
hang precious jewels in the wound.” In the’ experi¬ 
ence of life it is found that the wholesome discipline of 
adversity in strong natures usually carries with it a 
self-preserving influence. Many are found capable of 
bravely bearing up under privations, and cheerfully 
encountering obstructions, who are afterwards found 
unable to withstand the more dangerous influences of 
prosperity. It is only a weak man whom the wind de¬ 
prives of his cloak; a man of average strength is more 
in danger of losing it when assailed by the beams of a 
too genial sun. Thus it often needs a higher discipline 
and a stronger character to bear up under good fortune 
than under adverse. Some generous natures kindle 
and warm with prosperity, but there are many on 
whom wealth has no such influence. Base hearts it 
only hardens, making those who were mean and serv¬ 
ile, mean and proud. But while prosperity is apt to 
harden the heart to pride, adversity in a man of resolu¬ 
tion will serve to ripen it into fortitude. To use the 
words of Burke, “Difficulty is a severe instructor, set 
over us by the supreme ordinance of a parental guard¬ 
ian and instructor, who knows us better than we know 
ourselves, as He loves us better too. He that wrestles 
with us strengthens our nerves, and sharpens our skill; 
our antagonist is thus our helper.” Without the neces¬ 
sity of encountering difficulty, life might be easier, but 
men would be worth less. For trials, wisely improved, 


The School of Difficulty the Best School. 313 

train the character, and teach self-help; thus hardship 
itself may often prove the wholesomest discipline for 
us, though we recognize it not. 

The battle of life is, in most cases, fought up-hill; 
and to win it without a struggle were perhaps to win it 
without honor. If there were no difficulties there 
would be no success; if there were nothing to struggle 
for, there would be nothing to be achieved. Difficul¬ 
ties may intimidate the weak, but they act only as a 
wholesome stimulus to men of resolution and valor. 
All experience of life, indeed, serves to prove that the 
impediments thrown in the way of human advance¬ 
ment may, for the most part, be overcome by steady 
good conduct, honest zeal, activity, perseverance, and 
above all, by a determined resolution to surmount dif¬ 
ficulties, and stand up manfully against misfortune. 

The school of Difficulty is the best school of moral 
discipline, for nations as for individuals. Indeed, the 
history of difficulty would be but a history of all the 
great and good things that have yet been accomplished 
by men. It is hard to say how much northern nations 
owe to their encounter with a comparatively rude and 
changeable climate, and an originally sterile soil, which 
is one of the necessities of their condition—involving a 
perennial struggle with difficulties such as the natives 
of sunnier climes know nothing of. And thus it may 
be, that though our finest products are exotic, the skill 
and industry which have been necessary to rear them, 
have issued in the production of a native growth of 
men not surpassed on the globe. 

Wherever there is difficulty, the individual man must 


314 


Difficulty and Success . 


come out for better or for worse. Encounter with it 
will train his strength, and discipline his skill; hearten¬ 
ing him for future effort, as the racer, by being trained 
to run against the hill, at length courses with facility. 
The road to success may be steep to climb, and it puts 
to the proof the energies of him who would reach the 
summit. But by experience a man soon learns that ob¬ 
stacles are to be overcome by grappling with them; 
that the nettle feels as soft as silk when it is boldly 
grasped; and that the most effective help towards real¬ 
izing the object proposed is the moral conviction that 
we can and will accomplish it. Thus difficulties often 
fall away of themselves before the determination to 
overcome them. 

Much will be done if we do but try. Nobody knows 
what he can do till he has tried; and few try their best 
till they have been forced to do it. u If I could do 
such and such a thing, 1 ’ sighs the desponding youth. 
But nothing will be done if he only wishes. The de¬ 
sire must ripen into purpose and effort; and one ener¬ 
getic attempt is worth a thousand aspirations. It is 
these thorny “ifs” which so often hedge around the 
field of possibility, and prevent anything being done or 
even attempted. “ A difficulty,” said Lord Lyndhurst, 
“ is a thing to be overcome;” grapple with it at once; 
facility will come with practice, and strength and forti¬ 
tude with repeated effort. Thus the mind and charac¬ 
ter may be trained to an almost perfect discipline, and 
enabled to act with a grace, spirit, and liberty, almost 
incomprehensible to those who have not passed through 
a similar experience. 


Clay — Curran . 


315 


Carissimi, when praised for the ease and grace of his 
melodies, exclaimed, “Ah! you little know with what 
difficulty this ease has been acquired.” Sir Joshua 
Reynolds, when once asked how long it had taken him 
to paint a certain picture, replied, “ All my life.” Henry 
Clay, the American orator, when giving advice to 
young men, thus described to them the secret of his 
success in the cultivation of his art: “ I owe my suc¬ 
cess in life,” said he, “chiefly to one circumstance—that 
at the age of twenty-seven I commenced, and continued 
for years, the process of daily reading and speaking 
upon the contents of some historical or scientific book. 
These off-hand efforts were made, sometimes in a corn¬ 
field, at others in the forest, and not unfrequently in 
some distant barn, with the horse and the ox for my 
auditors. It is to this early practice of the art of all 
arts that I am indebted for the primary and leading im¬ 
pulses that stimulated me onward and have shaped and 
moulded my whole subsequent destiny.” 

Curran, the Irish orator, when a youth, had a strong 
defect in his articulation, and at school he was known 
as “ stuttering Jack Curran.” While he was engaged 
in the study of the law, and still struggling to over¬ 
come his defect, he was stung into eloquence by the 
sarcasms of a member of a debating club, who charac¬ 
terized him as “ Orator Mum; ” for, like Cowper, when 
he stood up to speak on a previous occasion, Curran had 
not been able to utter a^word. The taunt stung him 
and he replied in a triumphant speech. This accidental 
discovery in himself of the gift of eloquence encour¬ 
aged him to proceed in his studies with renewed en- 


316 


Curran. 


ergy. He corrected his enunciation by reading aloud, 
emphatically and distinctly, the best passages in litera¬ 
ture for several hours every day, studying his features 
before a mirror, and adopting a method of gesticulation 
suited to his rather awkward and ungraceful figure. 
He also proposed cases to himself, which he argued 
with as much care as if he had been addressing a jury. 
Curran began business with the qualification which 
Lord Eldon stated to be the first requisite for distinc¬ 
tion, that is, “ to be not worth a shilling.” While work¬ 
ing his way laboriously at the bar, still oppressed by 
the diffidence which had overcome him in his debating, 
club, he was on one occasion provoked by the Judge 
into making a very severe retort. In the case under dis¬ 
cussion, Curran observed, “ that he had never met the 
law as laid down by his lordship in any book in his 
library.” “ That may be, sir,” said the judge, in a con¬ 
temptuous tone, “ but I suspect that your library is very 
small.” His lordship was notoriously a furious politi¬ 
cal partisan, the author of several anonymous pam¬ 
phlets characterized by unusual violence and dogma¬ 
tism. Curran, roused by the allusion to his straight¬ 
ened circumstances, replied thus: “It is very true, my 
lord, that I am poor, and the circumstance has cer¬ 
tainly curtailed my library; my books are not numer¬ 
ous, but they are select, and I hope they have been 
perused with proper dispositions. I have prepared my¬ 
self for this high profession by^ the study of a few good 
works, rather than by the composition of a great many 
bad ones. I am not ashamed of my poverty; but I 
should be ashamed of my wealth, could I have stooped 


317 


Struggles 'with Poverty . 

to acquire it by servility and corruption. If I rise not 
to rank, I shall at least be honest; and should lever 
cease to be so, many an example shows me that an 
ill-gained elevation, by making me the more conspicu¬ 
ous, would only make me the more universally and the 
more notoriously contemptible.” 

The extremest poverty has been no obstacle in the 
way of men devoted to the duty of self-culture. Pro¬ 
fessor Alexander Murray, the linguist, learned to write 
by scribbling his letters on an old wool-card with the 
end of a burned feather stem. The only book which 
his father, who was a poor shepherd, possessed, was a 
penny Catechism; but that, being thought too valuable 
for common use, was carefully preserved in a cupboard 
for the Sunday catechisings. Professor Moor, when 
a young man, being too poor to purchase Newton’s 
“ Principia,” borrowed the book, and copied the whole 
of it with his own hand. Many poor students, while 
laboring daily for their living, have only been able to 
snatch an atom of knowledge here and there at inter¬ 
vals, as birds do their food in winter-time when the fields 
are covered with snow. They have struggled on, and 
faith and hope have come to them. A well-known 
author and publisher, William Chambers, of Edinburgh, 
speaking before an assemblage of young men in that 
city, thus briefly described to them his humble begin¬ 
nings, for their encouragement: “I stand before you,” 
he said, “ a self-educated man. My education is that 
which is supplied at the humble parish schools of Scot¬ 
land; and it was only when I went to Edinburgh, a poor 
boy, that I devoted my evenings, after the labors of the 


318 


William Cobbetl. 


day, to the cultivation of that intellect which the Al¬ 
mighty has given me. From seven or eight in the 
morning till nine or ten at night was I at my business 
as a bookseller’s apprentice, and it was only during 
hours after these, stolen from sleep, that I could devote 
myself to study. I did not read novels; my attention 
was devoted to physical science, and other useful mat¬ 
ters. I also taught myself French. I look back to 
those times with great pleasure, and am almost sorry 
I have not to go through the same experience again; 
for I reaped more pleasure when I had not a sixpence 
in my pocket, studying in a garret in Edinburgh, than 
I now find when sitting amidst all the elegancies and 
comforts of a parlor.” 

William Cobbett’s account of how he learneb Eng¬ 
lish grammar is full of interest and instruction for all 
students laboring under difficulties. “ I learned gram¬ 
mar,” said he, “ when I was a private soldier on the 
pay of sixpence a day. The edge of my berth, or that 
of my guard-bed, was my seat to study in; my knap¬ 
sack was my book-case; a bit of board lying on my lap 
was my writing table; and the task did not demand 
any thing like a year of my life. I had no money to 
purchase candle or oil; in winter-time it was rarely 
that I could get any evening light but that of the fire, 
and only my turn even at that. And if I, under such 
circumstances, and without parent or friend to advise 
or encourage me, accomplished this undertaking, what 
excuse can there be for any youth, however poor, how¬ 
ever pressed with business, or however circumstanced 
as to room or other convenience? To buy a pen or 


The French Exile . 


319 


a sheet of paper I was compelled to forego some por¬ 
tion of food, though in a state of half-starvation; I had 
no moment of time that I could call my own; and I had 
to read and write amidst the talking, laughing, singing, 
whistling, and brawling of at least half a score of the 
most thoughtless of men, and that, too, in the hours of 
their freedom from all control. Think not lightly of 
the farthing that I had to give, now and then, for ink, 
pen, or paper! That farthing was, alas! a great sum to me! 
I was as tall as I am now; I had great health and great 
exercise. The whole of the money, not expended for 
us at market, was four cents a week for each man. I 
remember, and well I may! that on one occasion I, 
after all necessary expenses, had, on a Friday, made 
shifts to have a halfpenny in reserve, which I had des¬ 
tined for the purchase of a red herring in the morning; 
but, when I pulled off my clothes at night, so hungry 
then as to be hardly able to endure life, I found that I 
had lost my halfpenny! I buried my head under the 
miserable sheet and rug, and cried like a child! And 
again I say, if I, under circumstances like these, could 
encounter and overcome this task, can there be, in the 
whole world, a youth to find an excuse for the non¬ 
performance? ” 

We have been informed of an equally striking in¬ 
stance of perseverance and application in learning on 
the part of a French political exile in London. His 
original occupation was that of a stonemason, at which 
he found employment for some time; but work becom¬ 
ing slack, he lost his place, and poverty stared him in 
the face. In his dilemma, he called upon a fellow-exile 


320 


The French Exile. 


profitably engaged in teaching French, and consulted 
him what he ought to do to earn a living. The an¬ 
swer was, “Become a professor? ” “ A professor? ” 

answered the mason—“ I, who am only a workman, 
speaking but a patois! Surely you are jesting? ” “ On 
the contrary, I am quite serious,” said the other, “and 
again I advise you—become a professor; place your¬ 
self under me, and I will undertake to teach you how 
to teach others.” “ No, no! ” replied the mason, “it 
is impossible; I am too old to learn; I am too little of 
a scholar; I can not be a professor.” He went away, 
and again he tried to obtain employment at his trade. 
From London he went into the provinces, and traveled 
several hundred miles in vain; he could not find a mas¬ 
ter. Returning to London, he went direct to his for¬ 
mer adviser and said, “ I have tried every where for 
Work, and failed; I will now try to be a professor! ” 
He immediately placed himself under instruction; and 
being a man of close application, of quick apprehension, 
and vigorous intelligence, he speedily mastered the ele¬ 
ments of grammar, the rules of construction and com¬ 
position, and the correct pronunciation of classical 
French. When his friend and instructor thought him 
sufficiently competent to undertake the teaching of 
others, an appointment, advertised as vacant, was ap¬ 
plied for and obtained; and behold our artisan at length 
become professor! It so happened, that the seminary 
to which he was appointed was situated in a suburb of 
London where he had formerly worked as a stonemason; 
every morning the first thing which met his eyes on 
looking out of his dressing-room window was a stack 


321 


Sir Samuel Romilly. 

of cottage-chimneys which he had himself built! He 
feared for a time lest he should be recognized in the vil¬ 
lage as the quondam workman, and thus bring discredit 
on his seminary, which was of high standing. But he 
need have been under no such apprehension, as he proved 
a most efficient teacher, and his pupils were on more 
than one occasion publicly complimented for their 
knowledge of French. Meanwhile, he secured the re¬ 
spect and friendship of all who knew him—fellow-pro¬ 
fessors as well as pupils; and when the story of his 
struggles, his difficulties, and his past history became 
known to them, they admired him more than ever. 

Sir Samuel Romilly was not less persevering as a 
self-cultivator. The son of a jeweler, descended from 
a French refugee, he received little education in his 
early years, but overcame all his disadvantages by un¬ 
wearied application, and by efforts constantly directed 
towards the same end. “ I determined,” he said, in his 
autobiography, “ when I was between fifteen and six¬ 
teen years of %ge, to apply myself seriously to learn¬ 
ing Latin, of which I, at that time, knew little more 
than some of the most familiar rules of grammar. In the 
course of three or four years, during which I thus applied 
myself, I had read almost every prose writer of the age 
of pure Latinity. I had gone three times through the 
whole of Livy, Sallust, and Tacitus. I had studied the 
most celebrated orations of Cicero, and translated a 
great deal of Homer. Terence, Virgil, Horace, Ovid, 
and Juvenal I had read over and over again.” He also 
studied geography, natural history, and natural philos¬ 
ophy, and obtained a considerable acquaintance with 


21 


322 


John Leyden . 


general knowledge. At sixteen he was articled to a 
clerk in Chancery; worked hard; was admitted to the 
bar; and his industry and perseverance insured success. 
He became Solicitor-General under the Fox adminis¬ 
tration in 1806 , and steadily worked his way to the 
highest celebrity in his profession. Yet he was always 
haunted by a painful and almost oppressive sense of his 
own disqualifications, and never ceased laboring to rem¬ 
edy them. His autobiography is a lesson of instructive 
facts, worth volumes of sentiment, and well deserves a 
careful perusal. 

Sir Walter Scotf was accustomed to cite the case of 
his young friend John Leyden as one of the most re¬ 
markable illustrations of the power of perseverance 
which he had ever known. The son of a shepherd in 
one of the wildest valleys in Roxburgshire, he was al¬ 
most entirely self-educated. Like many Scotch shep¬ 
herds’ sons—like Hogg, who taught himself to write by 
copying the letters of a printed book as he lay watching 
his flock on the hill-side—like Cairns, who from tend¬ 
ing sheep on the Lammermoors, raised himself by dint 
of application and industry to the professor’s chair which 
he now so worthily holds—like Maurey, Ferguson, and 
many more, Leyden was early inspired by a thirst for 
knowledge. When a poor barefooted boy, he walked 
six or eight miles across the moors daily to learn read¬ 
ing at the little village schoolhouse of Kirkton; and this 
was all the education he received; the rest he acquired 
for himself. He found his way to Edinburgh to attend 
the college there, setting the extremest penury at defi¬ 
ance. He was first discovered as the frequenter of a 


Professor Lee . 323 

small bookseller’s shop kept by Archibald Constable, 
afterwards so well known as a publisher. He would 
pass hour after hour perched on a ladder in mid-air, 
with some great folio in his hand, forgetful of the scanty 
meal of bread and water which awaited him at his 
miserable lodging. Access to books and lectures com¬ 
prised all within the bounds of his wishes. Thus he 
toiled and battled at the gates of science until his un¬ 
conquerable perseverance carried everything before it. 
Before he had attained his nineteenth year he had as¬ 
tonished all the professors in Edinbnrgh by his pro¬ 
found knowledge of Greek and Latin, and the general 
mass of information he had acquired. Having turned 
his views to India, he sought employment in the civil ser¬ 
vice, but failed. He was however informed that a sur¬ 
geon’s assistant’s commission was open to him. But he 
was no surgeon, and knew no more of the profession 
than a child. He could, however, learn. Then he was 
told that he must be ready to pass in six months. Noth¬ 
ing daunted, he sat to work to acquire in six months 
what usually required three years. At the end of six 
months he took his degree with honor. Scott and a few 
friends helped to fit him out; and he sailed for India, 
after publishing his beautiful poem, “ The Scenes of In¬ 
fancy.” In India he promised to become one of the 
greatest of oriental scholars, but was unhappily cut off 
by fever caught by exposure, and died at an early age. 

The life of the late Dr. Lee, Professor of Hebrew at 
Cambridge, furnishes one of the most remarkable in¬ 
stances in modern times of the power of patient per¬ 
severance and resolute purpose in working out an hon* 


324 Professor Lee. 

orable career in literature. He received his education 
at a charity school at Lognor, near Shrewsbury, but so 
little distinguished himself there, that his master pro¬ 
nounced him one of the dullest boys that ever passed 
through his hands. He was put apprentice to a car¬ 
penter, and worked at that trade until he arrived at 
manhood. To occupy his leisure hours he took to read¬ 
ing; and, some of his books containing Latin quota¬ 
tions, he became desirous of ascertaining what they 
meant. He bought a Latin grammar, and proceeded 
to learn Latin. As Stone, the Duke of Argyle’s gard¬ 
ener, said, long before, “Does one need to know more 
than the twenty-four letters in order to learn everything 
else that one wishes? ” Lee rose early and sat up late, 
and he succeeded in mastering the Latin before his ap¬ 
prenticeship was out. Whilst working one day in some 
place of worship, a copy of a Greek Testament fell in 
his way, and he was immediately filled with the desire 
to learn that language. He accordingly sold some of 
his Latin books and purchased a Greek Grammar and 
Lexicon. Taking pleasure in learning, he soon mas¬ 
tered the language. Then he sold his Greek books and 
bought Hebrew ones, and learned that language, unas¬ 
sisted by any instructor, without any hope of fame or 
reward, but simply following the bent of his genius. 
He next proceeded to learn the Chaldee, Syriac, and 
Samaritan dialects. His character as a tradesman be¬ 
ing excellent, his business improved, and his means ena¬ 
bled him to marry, which he did when twenty-eight 
years old. He determined now to devote himself to 
the maintenance of his family, and to renounce the lux- 


Professor Lee. 


325 


ury of literature. Accordingly he sold all his books. 
He might have continued a working carpenter all his 
life had not the chest of tools upon which he depended 
for subsistence been destroyed by fire, and destitution 
stared him in the face. He was too poor to buy new 
tools,'so he bethought him of teaching children their let¬ 
ters—a profession requiring the least possible capital. 
But though he had mastered many languages, he was 
so defective in the common branches of knowledge, that 
at first he could not teach them. Resolute of purpose 
however, he assiduously set to work, and taught him¬ 
self arithmetic and writing to such a degree as to be 
able to impart the knowledge of these branches to lit¬ 
tle children. His unaffected, simple, and beautiful char¬ 
acter gradually attracted friends, and the acquirements 
of the “ learned carpenter ” became bruited abroad. 
Dr. Scott, a neighboring clergyman, obtained for him 
the appointment of master of a charity school and in¬ 
troduced him to a distinguishsd Oriental scholar. These 
friends supplied him with books, and Lee successively 
mastered Arabic, Persic, and Hindostanee. He contin¬ 
ued to pursue his studies while on duty as a private in 
the local militia of the county; gradually acquiring 
greater proficiency in languages. At length his kind 
patron, Dr. Scott, enabled Lee to enter Queen’s Col¬ 
lege, Cambridge; and after a course of study, in which 
he distinguished himself by his mathematical acquire¬ 
ments, a vacancy occurring in the professorship of 
Arabic and Hebrew, he was worthily elected to fill the 
honorable office. Besides ably performing his duties as 
a professor, he voluntarily gave much of his time to the 


326 


Late Lea7'ners. 


instruction of missionaries going forth to preach the 
Gospel to Eastern tribes in their own tongue. He also 
made translations of the Bible into several Asiatic dia¬ 
lects; and having mastered the New Zealand language, 
he arranged a grammar and vocabulary for two New 
Zealand chiefs who were then in England, which books 
are now in daily use in the New Zealand schools. Such, 
in brief, is the remarkeble history of Dr. Samuel 
Lee; and it is but the counterpart of numerous similar¬ 
ly instructive examples of the power of perseverance 
in self culture, as display ed in the lives of many of the 
most distinguished of our literary and scientific men. 

There are many other illustrious names which might 
be cited to prove the truth of the common saying that 
“ it is never to late to learn. ” Even at advanced years 
men can do much, if they will determine on making a 
beginning. Sir Henry Spelman did not begin the study 
of science until he was between fifty and sixty years 
of age. Franklin was fifty before he fully entered 
upon the study of Natural Philosophy. Dryden and 
Scott were not known as authors until each was in his 
fortieth year. Boccaccio was thirty-five when he com¬ 
menced his literary career, and Alfieri was forty-six 
when he began the study of Greek. Dr. Arnold 
learned German at an advanced age, for the purpose of 
reading Niebuhr in the original; and in like manner 
James Watt, when about forty, while working at his 
trade of an instrument-maker in Glasgow, learned 
French, German, and Italian, to enable himself to peruse 
the valuable works on mechanical philosophy which 
existed in those languages. Thomas Scott was fifty- 


Illustrious Dunces. 


327 


six before he began to learn Hebrew. Robert Hall was 
once fotfnd lying upon the floor, racked by pain, learn¬ 
ing Italian in his old age, to enable him to judge of the 
parallel drawn by Macauley between Milton and Dante. 
Handel was forty-eight before he published any of his 
great works. Indeed, hundreds of instances might be 
given of men who struck out an entirely new path, and 
successfully entered on new studies, at a comparatively 
advanced time of life. None but the frivolous or the 
indolent will say, “ I am too old to learn.” 

And here we would repeat what we have said before, 
that it is not men of genius who move the world and 
take the lead in it, so much as men of steadfastness, 
purpose, and industry. Notwithstanding the many un¬ 
deniable instances of the precocity of men of genius, it 
is nevertheless true that early advancement gives no 
indication of the height to which the grown man will 
reach. Precocity is sometimes a symptom of disease 
rather than of intellectual vigor. What becomes of 
all the “remarkably forward children?” Trace them 
through life, and it will frequently be found that the 
dull boys, who were beaten at school, have shot ahead 
of them. The precocious boys are rewarded, but the 
prizes which they gain by their greater quickness and 
facility do not always prove of use to them. What 
ought rather to be rewarded is the endeavor, the strug¬ 
gle, and the obedience; for it is the youth who does his 
best, though endowed with an inferiority of natural 
powers, that ought above all others to be encouraged. 

An interesting chapter might be written on the sub¬ 
ject of illustrious dunces—dull boys, but brilliant men. 


328 


Illustrious Dunces . 


Newton, when at school, stood at the bottom of the 
lowest form but one. The boy above Newton having 
kicked him, the dunce showed his pluck by challenging 
him to a fight, and beat him. Then he set to work 
with a will, and determined also to vanquish his antago¬ 
nist as a scholar, which he did, rising to the top of his 
class. Isaac Barrow, when a boy at the Charterhouse 
School, was notorious chiefly for his strong temper, 
pugnacious habits, and proverbial idleness as a scholar; 
and he caused such grief to his parents that his father 
used to say that, if it pleased God to take from him 
any of his children, he hoped it might be Isaac, the 
least promising of them all. Adam Clarke, when a 
boy, was proclaimed by his father to be “ a grievous 
dunce.” Dean Swift was “plucked” at Dublin Uni¬ 
versity, and only obtained his recommendation to Ox¬ 
ford by “ special favor.” The well-known Dr. Chal¬ 
mers and Dr. Cook were boys together at the parish 
school of St. Andrew’s; and they were found so stupid 
and mischievous, that the master, irritated beyond 
measure, dismissed them both as incorrigible dunces. 
The brilliant Sheridan showed so little capacity as a 
boy, that he was presented to a tutor by his mother 
with the complimentary accompaniment that he was a 
hopeless dunce. Walter Scott was all but a> dunce 
when a boy, always much readier for sport than apt at 
his lessons. At the Edinburg University, Professor 
Dalzell pronounced upon him the sentence that u Dunce 
he was, and dunce he would remain.” Chatterton was 
returned on his mother’s hands as “ a fool, of whom 
nothing could be made.” Burns was a dull boy, good 


Grant — Jackson. 


329 


only at athletic exercises. Goldsmith spoke of himself as 
a plant that flowered late. Alfieri left college no wiser 
than he entered it, and did not begin the studies by 
which he distinguished himself, until he had run half 
over Europe. Robert Clive was a dunce, if not a rep¬ 
robate, when a youth; but always full of energy, even 
in badness. His family, glad to get rid of him, shipped 
him off to Madras; and he lived to lay the foundations 
of the British power in India. Napoleon and Welling¬ 
ton were both dull boys not distinguishing themselves 
in any way at school.” 

Ulysses Grant, the Commander-in-chief of the United 
States, was called “ Useless Grant ” by his mother—he 
was so dull and unhandy when a boy; and Stonewall 
Jackson, Lee’s greatest 'lieutenant, was, in his youth, 
chiefly noted for his slowness. While a pupil at West 
Point Military Academy he was, however, equally re¬ 
markable for his application and perseverance. When 
a task was set him, he never left it until he had mas¬ 
tered it; nor did he ever feign to possess knowledge 
which he had not entirely acquired. “ Again and 
again,” wrote one who knew him, “ when called upon 
to answer questions in the recitation of the day, he 
would reply, k I have not yet looked at it; I have been 
engaged in mastering the recitation of yesterday or the 
day before.’ The result was that he graduated seven¬ 
teenth in a class of seventy. There was probably in 
the whole class not a boy to whom Jackson at the out¬ 
set was not inferior in knowledge and attainments; but 
at the end of the race he had only sixteen before him, 
and had outstripped no fewer than fifty-three. It used 


330 


Perseverance. 


to be said of him by his contemporaries, that if the 
course had been for ten years instead of four, Jackson 
would have graduated at the head of his class.” John 
Howard, the philanthropist, was another illustrious 
dunce, learning next to nothing during the seven years 
that he was at school. Watt was a dull scholar, not¬ 
withstanding the stories told about his precocity; but 
he was, what was better, patient and perseverant, and 
it was by such qualities, and by his carefully cultivated 
inventiveness, that he was enabled to perfect his steam- 
engine. 

What Dr. Arnolb says of boys is equally true of men 
—that the difference between one boy and another con¬ 
sists not so much in talent as in energy. Given per¬ 
severance, and energy soon becomes habitual. Pro¬ 
vided the dunce has persistency and application, he 
will inevitably head the cleverer fellow without those 
qualities. Slow but sure wins the race. It is perse¬ 
verance that explains how the position of boys at 
school are so often reversed in real life, and it is curi¬ 
ous to note how some who were then so clever have 
since become so commonplace; while others, dull boys, 
of whom nothing was expected, slow in their faculties 
but sure in their pace, have assumed the position of 
leaders of men. The tortoise in the right road will 
beat a racer in the wrong. It matters not, though a 
youth be slow, if he be but diligent. Quickness of parts 
may even prove a defect, isasmuch as the boy who 
learns readily will often forget as readily; and also be¬ 
cause he finds no need of cultivating that quality of 
application and perseverance which the slower youth 


Success Defends on Perseverance. 331 

is compelled to exercise, and which proves so valuable 
an element in the formation of every character. Davy 
said, “ What I am I have made myself; ” and the same 
holds true universally. 

To conclude: the best culture is not obtained from 
teachers when at school or college, so much as by our 
own diligent self-education when we have become men. 
Hence parents need not be in too great haste to see 
their children’s talents forced into bloom. Let them 
watch and wait patiently, letting good example and 
quiet training do their work, and leave the rest to Prov¬ 
idence. Let them see to it that the youth is provided, 
by free exercise of his bodily powers, with a full stock 
of physical health; set him fairly on the road of self¬ 
culture; carefully train his habits of application and 
perseverance, and as he grows older, if the right stuff 
be in him, he will be enabled vigorously and effectively 
to cultivate himself. 



CHAPTER XIII. 


WORKERS IN ART. 

“ If what shone afar so grand, 

Turn to nothing in thy hand. 

On again ; the virtue lies 

In the struggle, not the prize.’’—M. M. Moore. 



EXCELLENCE in art, as in everything else, 
can only be achieved by dint of painstaking 
labor. There is nothing less accidental than 
the painting of a picture or the chiselling of a 
noble statue. Every skilled touch of the artist’s brush 
or chisel, though guided by genius, is the product of 
unremitting study. 

Sir Joshua Reynolds was such a believer in the force 
of industry, that he held that artistic excellence, “ how¬ 
ever expressed by genius, taste, or the gift of heaven, 
may be acquired.” Writing to Barry he said, “Who¬ 
ever is resolved to excel in painting, or indeed any other 
art, must bring all his mind to bear upon that one ob¬ 
ject from the moment that he rises till he goes to bed.” 
And on another occasion he said, “ Those who are re¬ 
solved to excel must go to their work, willing or unwill¬ 
ing, morning, noon, and night; they will find it no play, 
but very hard labor.” 

Like Sir Joshua Reynolds, Michael Angelo was a 
great believer in the force of labor; and he held that 




Michael A?igelo — Titian . 333 

there was nothing which the imagination conceived that 
could not be embodied in marble, if the hand were 
made vigorously to obey the mind. He was himself 
one of the most persevering of workers; and he attrib¬ 
uted his power of studying for a greater number of 
hours than most of his cotemporaries to his spare habits 
of living. A little bread and wine was all he required 
for the chief part of the day when employed at his 
work, and very frequently he rose in the middle of the 
night to resume his labors. On these occasions it was 
his practice to fix the candle, by the light of which he 
chisseled, on the summit of a pasteboard cap which he 
wore. Sometimes he was too wearied to undress, and 
he slept in his clothes, ready to spring to his work as 
soon as refreshed by sleep. He had a favorite device 
of an old man in a go-cart, with an hour-glass upon it 
bearing the inscription, “ Still I am learning.” 

Titian, also, was an earnest worker. His celebrated 
“ Pietro Martire ” was eight years in hand, and his 
“ Last Supper ” seven. In his letter to Charles V. he 
said, “ I send your Majesty the 4 Last Supper,’after 
working at it almost daily for seven years.” Few think 
of the patient labor and long training involved in the 
greatest works of the artist. They seem easy and 
quickly accomplished, yet with how great difficulty has 
this ease been acquired. “ You charge me fifty se¬ 
quins,” said the Venetian nobleman to the sculptor, “ for 
a bust that cost you only ten days’ labor.” “ You for¬ 
get,” said the artist, “ that I have been thirty years 
learning to make that bust in ten days.” It was emi¬ 
nently characteristic of the industry of the late Sir Au- 


334 


Callcott — West. 


gustus Callcott that he made not fewer than forty sep¬ 
arate sketches in the composition of his famous picture 
of “ Rochester.” This constant repetition is one of the 
main conditions of success in art, as in life itself. No 
matter how generous nature has been in bestowing the 
gift of genius, the pursuit of art is nevertheless a long 
and continuous labor. Many artists have been preco¬ 
cious, but without dilligence their precocity would have 
come to nothing. The anecdote related of West is 
well known. When only seven years old, struck with 
the beauty of the sleeping infant of his eldest sister, 
whilst watching by its cradle, he ran to seek some pa¬ 
per, and forthwith drew its portrait in red and black 
ink. The little incident revealed the artist in him, and 
it was found impossible to draw him from his bent. 
West might have been a greater painter had he not 
been injured by too early success: his fame, though 
great, was not purchased by study, trials, and difficul¬ 
ties, and it has not been enduring. 

Sir Joshua Reynolds, when a boy, forgot his lessons, 
and took pleasure only in drawing, for which his 
father was accustomed to rebuke him. The boy was 
destined for the profession of physic, but his strong in¬ 
stinct for art could not be suppressed, and he became a 
painter. Gainsborough, when a school-boy, went sketch¬ 
ing in the woods, and at twelve he was a confirmed 
artist; he was a keen observer and a hard worker— 
no picturesque feature of any scene he had once looked 
upon escaping his diligent pencil. William Blake, a 
hosier’s son, employed himself in drawing designs on 
the backs of his father’s shop-bills, and making sketches 


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Hogarth's Close Observation. 335 

on the counter. Edward Bird, when a child only three 
or four years old, would mount a chair and draw figures 
on the walls, which he called French and English sol¬ 
diers. A box of colors was purchased for him, and his 
father, desirous of turning his love of art to account, 
put him apprentice to a maker of tea-trays! Out of 
this trade he gradually raised himself, by study and 
labor, to the rank of a Royal Academician. 

Hogarth, though a very dull boy at his lessons, took 
pleasure in making drawings of the letters of the alpha¬ 
bet, and his school exercises were more remarkable 
for the ornaments with which he embelished them, than 
for the matter of the exercises themselves. In the lat¬ 
ter respect he was beaten by all the blockheads of the 
school, but in his adornments he stood alone. His father 
put him apprentice to a silversmith, where he learned 
to draw, and also tq engrave spoons and forks with 
crests and ciphers. From silver-chasing he went on to 
teach himself engraving on copper, in the course of 
which practice he became ambitious to delineate the 
varieties of human character. The singular excellence 
which he reached in this art was mainly the result of 
careful observation and study. He had the gift, which 
he sedulously cultivated, of committing to memory the 
precise features of any remarkable face, and afterwards 
reproducing them on paper; but if any singularly fan¬ 
tastic form or peculiar face came in his way, he would 
make a sketch of it upon the spot upon his thumb-nail, 
and carry it home to expand at his leisure. Every thing 
fantastical and original had a powerful attraction for 
him, and he wandered iuto many out-of-the-way-places 


336 


Banks . 


for the purpose of meeting with character. By this 
careful storing of his mind, he was afterwards enabled 
to crowd an immense amount of thought and treasured 
observation into his works. Hence it is that Hogarth’s 
pictures are so truthful a memorial of the character, 
the manners, and even the very thoughts of the times 
in which he lived. True painting, he himself observed, 
can only be learned in one school, and that is kept by 
Nature. But he was not a highly cultivated man, ex¬ 
cept in his own walk. His school education had been 
of the slenderest kind, scarcely even perfecting him in 
the art of spelling; his self-culture did the rest. For a 
long time he was in very straightened circumstances, 
but nevertheless worked on with a cheerful heart. Poor 
though he was, he contrived to live within his small 
means, and he boasted, with becoming pride, that he 
was “ a punctual paymaster.” When he had conquered 
all his difficulties and become a famous and thriving 
man, he loved to dwell upon his early labors and pri¬ 
vations, and to fight over again the battle which ended 
so honorably to him as a man and so gloriously as an 
artist. “ I remember the time,” said he on one occa¬ 
sion, “ when I have gone moping into the city with 
scarce a shilling, but as soon as I have received ten 
guineas there for a plate, I have returned home, put on 
my sword, and sallied out with all the confidence of a 
man who had thousands in his pockets.” 

“ Industry and perseverance ” was the motto of the 
sculptor Banks, which he acted on himself, and strongly 
recommended to others. His well-known kindness in¬ 
duced many aspiring youths to call upon him and ask 


Mulready — Turner . 337 

for his advice and assistance; and it is related that one 
day a boy called at his door to see him with this object, 
but the servant, angry at the loud knock he had given, 
scolded him, and was about sending him away, when 
Banks, overhearing her, himself went out. The little 
boy stood at the door with some drawings in his hand. 
u What do you want with me? ” asked the sculptor. 
“ I want, sir, if you please, to be admitted to draw at 
the Academy.” Banks explained that he himself could 
not procure his admission, but he asked to look at the 
boy’s drawings. Examining them, he said, “ Time 
enough for the Academy, my little man! go home— 
mind your schooling—try to make a better drawing of 
the Apollo—and in a month come again and let me see 
it.” The boy went home—sketched and worked with 
redoubled diligence—and, at the end of the month, 
called again on the sculptor. The drawing was better; 
but again Banks sent him back, with good advice, to 
work and study. In a week the boy was again at his 
door, his drawing much improved; and Banks bid him 
be of good cheer, for if spared he would distinguish 
himself. The boy was Mulready; and the sculptor’s 
augury was amply fulfilled. 

Turner was destined by his father for his own trade 
of a barber, which he carried on in London, until one 
day the sketch which the boy had made of a coat-of- 
arms on a silver salver having attracted the notice of 
a customer whom his father was shaving, the latter 
was urged to allow his son to follow his bias, and he 
was eventually permitted to follow art as a profession. 
Like all young artists, Turner had many difficulties to 


22 


338 


jBenvenuto Cellini. 


encounter, and they were all the greater that his circum¬ 
stances were so straitened. But he was always willing 
to work, and to take pains with his work, no matter 
how humble it might be. He was glad to hire himself 
out at half-a-crown a night to wash in skies in Indian 
ink upon other people's drawings, getting his supper 
into the bargain. Thus he earned money and acquired 
expertness. Then he took to illustrating guide-books, 
almanacs, and any sort of books that wanted cheap 
frontispieces. “ What could I have done better?” said 
he afterwards; “it was first-rate practice.” He did 
everything carefully and conscientiously, never slurring 
over his work because he was ill-remunerated for it. 
He aimed at learning as well as living; always doing 
his best, and never leaving a drawing without having 
made a step in advance upon his previous work. A 
man who thus labored was sure to do much; and his 
growth in power and grasp of thought was, to use 
Ruskin’s words, “as steady as the increasing light of 
sunrise.” But Turner’s genius needs no panegyric; his 
best monument is the noble gallery of pictures be¬ 
queathed by him to the nation, which will ever be the 
most lasting memorial of his fame. 

Very romantic and adventurous was the career of 
Benvenuto Cellini, the marvellous gold-worker, painter, 
sculptor, engraver, engineer, and author. His life, as 
told by himself, is one of the most extraordinary auto¬ 
biographies ever written. Giovanni Cellini, his father, 
was one of the Court musicians at Florence; and his 
highest ambition concerning his son was that he should 
become an expert player on the flute. But Giovanni 


His Indefatigable Activity . 


339 


having lost his appointment, found it necessary to send 
his son to learn some trade, and he was apprenticed to 
a goldsmith. The boy had already displayed a love of 
drawing and of art; and, applying himself to his busi¬ 
ness, he soon became a dextrous workman. Having 
got mixed up in a quarrel with some of the towns¬ 
people, he was banished for six months, during which 
period he worked with a goldsmith at Sienna, gaining 
further experience in jewelry and gold-working. 

His father still insisting on his becoming a flute-play¬ 
er, Benvenuto continued to practice on the instrument, 
though he detested it. His chief pleasure was in art, 
which he pursued with enthusiasm. Returning to 
Florence, he carefully studied the best designs; and, 
still further to improve himself in gold-working, he 
went on foot to Rome, where he met with a variety of 
adventures. He returned to Florence with the repu¬ 
tation of being a most expert worker in the precious 
metals, and his skill was soon in great request. Dur¬ 
ing his residence in Rome, Cellini met with extensive 
patronage, and he was taken into the Pope’s service in 
the double capacity of goldsmith and musician. He 
was constantly studying and improving himself by ac¬ 
quaintance with the works of the best masters. He 
mounted jewels, finished enamels, engraved seals, and 
designed and executed works in gold, silver, and bronze, 
in such a style as to excel all other artists. Whenever 
he heard of a goldsmith who was famous in any par¬ 
ticular branch, he immediately determined to surpass 
him. Thus it was that he rivalled the medals of one, 
the enamels of another, and the jewelry of a third; in 


340 


Benvenuto Cellini. 


fact, there was not a branch of his business that he did 
not feel impelled to excel in. Working in this spirit, it is 
not so wonderful that Cellini should have been able to 
accomplish so much. He was a man of ceaseless ac¬ 
tivity, and was constantly on the move. At one time 
we find him at Florence, at another at Rome; then he 
is at Mantua, at Rome, at Naples, and back to Flor¬ 
ence again; then at Venice, and in Paris, making all his 
long journeys on horseback. He could not carry much 
luggage with him; so,wherever he went he usually began 
by making his own tools. He not only designed his 
works, but executed them himself—hammered and 
carved, and cast and shaped them with his own hands. 
Indeed, his works have the impress of genius so clearly 
stamped upon them, that they could never have been 
designed by one person and executed by another. The 
humblest article—a buckle for a lady’s girdle, a seal, a 
locket, a brooch, a ring, or a button—became in his 
hands a beautiful work of art. Cellini was remarka¬ 
ble for his readiness and dexterity in handicraft. One 
day a surgeon entered the shop of a goldsmith, to per¬ 
form an operation on his daughter’s hand. On looking 
at the surgeon’s instruments, Cellini, who was present, 
found them rude and clumsy, as they usually were in 
those days, and he asked the surgeon to proceed no 
further with the operation for a quarter of an hour. 
He then ran to his shop, and taking a piece of the 
finest steel, wrought out of it a beautifully finished 
knife, with which the operation was successfully per¬ 
formed. Among the statues executed by Cellini, the 
most important are the silver figure of Jupiter and 
Perseus. 


John JFI ax man. 


341 


John Flaxman was the son of a humble seller of plas¬ 
ter casts. When a child he was such an invalid that it 
was his custom to sit behind his father’s shop counter 
propped by pillows, amusing himself with drawing and 
reading. A benevolent clergyman, the Rev. Mr. 
Matthews, calling at the shop one day, saw the boy try¬ 
ing to read a book, and, on inquiring what it was, found 
it to be a Cornelius Nepos, which his father had picked 
up for a few pence at a book stall. The gentleman, after 
some conversation with the boy, said th at was not the 
proper book for him to read, but that he would bring 
him one. The next day he called with translations of 
Homer and “ Don Quixote,’’which the boy proceeded to 
read with great avidity. His mind was soon filled with the 
heroism which breathed through the pages of the former, 
and, with the stucco Ajaxes and Achilleses about him, 
ranged along the shop shelves, the ambition took pos¬ 
session of him that he, too, would design and embody 
in poetic forms those majestic heroes. 

Like all youthful efforts, his first designs were crude. 
The proud father one day showed some of them to Rou- 
billiac the sculptor, who turned from them with a con¬ 
temptuous “ pshaw! ” But the boy had the right stuff 
in him; he had industry and patience; and he continued 
to labor incessantly at his books and drawings. He then 
tried his young powers in modelling figures in plaster 
of Paris, wax, and clay. Some of these early works 
are still preserved, not because of their merit, but be¬ 
cause they are curious as the first healthy efforts of pa¬ 
tient genius. It was long before the boy could walk, 
and he only learned to do so by hobbling along upon 


342 yohn Flaxman . 

crutches. At length he became strong enough to 
walk without them. 

The kind Mr. Matthews invited him to his house, 
where his wife explained Homer and Milton to him. 
They helped him also in his self-culture—giving him 
lessons in Greek and Latin, the study of which he pros¬ 
ecuted at home. By dint of patience and perseverance 
his drawing improved so much that he obtained a com¬ 
mission from a lady to execute six original drawings in 
black chalk of subjects in Homer. His first commis¬ 
sion! What an event in the artist’s life! The boy 
at once proceeded to execute the order, and he was both 
well praised and well paid for his work. At fifteen Flax- 
man entered a pupil at the Royal Academy. Notwith¬ 
standing his retiring disposition, he soon became known 
among the students; and great things were expected 
of him. Nor were their expectations disappointed; in 
his fifteenth year he gained the silver prize, and next 
year he became a candidate for the gold one. Every¬ 
body prophesied that he would carry off the medal, for 
there were none who surpassed him h\ ability and indus¬ 
try. Yet he lost it, and the gold medal was adjudged 
to a pupil who was not afterwards heard of. This fail¬ 
ure on the part of the youth was really of service to 
him; for defeats do not long cast down the resolute- 
hearted, but only serve to call forth their real powers. 
“ Give me time,” said he to his father, “ and I will }'et 
produce works that the Academ}/ will be proud to re¬ 
cognize.” He redoubled his efforts, spared no pains,, 
designed and modelled incessantly, and made steady if 
not rapid progress. But meanwhile poverty threatened 


343 


Employed by Wedgwood. 

his father’s household; the plaster-cast trade yielded a 
very bare living; and young Flaxman, with resolute 
self-denial, curtailed his hours of study, and devoted 
himself to helping his father in the humble details of 
his business. He laid aside his Horner to take up the 
plaster trowel. He was willing to work in the humblest 
department of the trade, so that his father’s family 
might be supported and the wolf kept from the door. 
To this drudgery of his art he served a long appren¬ 
ticeship; but it did him good. It familiarized him with 
steady work, and cultivated in him the spirit of pa¬ 
tience. The discipline may have been hard, but it was 
wholesome. 

Happily, young Flaxman’s skill in design had reached 
the knowledge of Josiah Wedgwood, who sought him 
out for the purpose of employing him to design im¬ 
proved patterns of china and earthenware. It may 
seem a humble department of art for such a genius as 
Flaxman to work in; but it really was not so. An 
artist may be laboring truly in his vocation while de¬ 
signing a common teapot or water-jug. Articles in 
daily use amongst the people, which are before their 
eyes at every meal, may be made the vehicles of edu¬ 
cation to all, and minister to their highest culture. The 
most ambitious artist may thus confer a greater practi¬ 
cal benefit on his countrymen than by executing an 
elaborate work which he may sell for thousands of 
pounds, to be placed in some wealthy man’s gallery 
where it is hidden ,away from public sight. Before 
Wedgwood’s time the designs which figured upon our 
china and stoneware were hideous both in drawing and 


344 FI ax man's Marriage . 

execution, and he determined to improve both. Flax- 
man did his best to carry out the manufacturer’s views. 
He supplied him from time to time with models and 
designs of various pieces of earthenware, the subjects 
of which were principally from ancient verse and his¬ 
tory. Many of them are still in existence, and some 
are equal in beauty and simplicity to his after-designs 
for marble. The celebrated Etruscan vases, specimens 
of which were to be found in public museums and in 
the cabinets of the curious, furnished him with the best 
examples of form, and these he embelished with his 
own elegant devices. “ Stuart’s Athens,” then recently 
published, furnished him with specimens of the purest- 
shaped Greek utensils; of these he adopted the best, 
and worked them into new shapes of elegance and 
beauty. Flaxman then saw that he was laboring in a 
great work—no less than the promotion of popular 
education; and he was proud, in after life, to allude to 
his early labors in this walk, by which he was enabled 
at the same time to cultivate his love of the beautiful, 
to diffuse a taste for art among the people, and to re¬ 
plenish his own purse, while he promoted the prosperity 
of his friend and benefactor. When twenty-seven years 
of age, he quitted his father’s roof and rented a small 
house and studio; and what was more, he married— 
Ann Denman was the name of his wife—and a cheer¬ 
ful, bright-souled, noble woman she was. He believed 
that in marrying her he should be able to work with 
an intenser spirit; for, like him, she had a taste for 
poetry and art; and besides was an enthusiastic ad¬ 
mirer of her husband’s genius. Yet when Sir Joshua 


345 


Flaxman and his Wife . 

Reynolds—himself a bachelor—met Flaxman shortly 
alter his marriage, he said to him, “ So, Flaxman, I am 
told you are married; if so, sir, I tell you you are 
ruined for an artist.” Flaxman went straight home, 
sat down beside his wife, took her hand in his, and said, 
“ Ann, X am ruined for an artist.” “ How so, John? 
How has it happened? and who has done it?” “It 
happened,” he replied, “ in the church, and Ann Den¬ 
man has done it.” He then told her of Sir Joshua’s re¬ 
mark—whose opinion was well known, and had often 
been expressed, that if students would excel they must 
bring the whole power of their mind to bear upon their 
art, from the moment they rose until they went to bed; 
and also, that no man could be a great artist unless he 
studied the grand works at Rome and Florence. “ And 
I,” said Flaxman, drawing up his little figure to its full 
height, “/ would be a great artist.” “And a great 
artist you shall be,” said his wife, “ and visit Rome, too, 
if that be really necessary to make you great.” “ But 
how?’’asked Flaxman. “ Work and economize ,” re¬ 
joined the brave wife, “ I will never have it said that 
Ann Denman ruined John Flaxman for an artist.” And 
so it was determined by the pair that the journey to 
Rome was to be made when their means would admit. 
“I will- go to Rome,” said Flaxman, “ and show the 
President that wedlock is for a man’s good rather than 
his harm; and you, Ann, shall accompany me.” 

Patiently and happily the affectionate couple plodded 
on during five years in their humble little home, always 
with the long journey to Rome before them. It was 
never lost sight of for a moment, and not a penny was 


346 


Flaxman at Rome . 


uselessly spent that could be saved towards the neces¬ 
sary expenses. They said no word to any one about 
their project; solicited no aid from the Academy; but 
trusted only to their own patient labor and love to pur¬ 
sue and achieve their object. During this time Flax- 
man exhibited very few works. He could not afford 
marble to experiment in original designs; but he ob¬ 
tained frequent commissions for monuments, by the 
profits of which he maintained himself. He still worked 
for Wedgwood, who was a prompt paymaster; and, on 
the whole, he was thriving, happy, and hopeful. 

At length Flaxman and his wife having accumulated 
a sufficient store of savings, set out for Rome. Arrived 
there, he applied himself diligently to study; maintain¬ 
ing himself, like other poor artists, by making copies 
from the antique. English visitors sought his studio, 
and gave him commissions; and it. was then that he 
composed his beautiful designs illustrative of Homer, 
^Eschylus, and Dante. He then prepared to return to* 
England, his taste improved and cultivated by careful 
study; but before he left Italy the Academies of Flor¬ 
ence and Carrara recognized his merit by electing him 
a member. 

His fame had preceded him to London, where he 
soon found abundant employment. While at Rome he 
had been commissioned to execute his famous monu¬ 
ment in memory of Lord Mansfield, and it was erected 
in the North transept of Westminster Abbey shortly 
after his return. It stands there in majestic grandeur, 
a monument to the genius of Flaxman himself—calm, 
simple, and severe. No wonder that Banks, the sculp- 


David Wilkie's Boyhood. 347 

tor, then at the zenith of his fame, exclaimed, when 
he saw it, “ This little man cuts us all out! ” 

When the members of the Royal Academy heard of 
Flaxman's return, and especially when they had an op¬ 
portunity of seeing and admiring his portrait-statue of 
Mansfield, they were eager to have him enrolled among 
their number. He allowed his name to be proposed in 
the candidates’ list of associates, and was immediately 
elected. Shortly after he appeared in an entirely new 
character. The little boy who had began his studies 
behind the plaster-cast seller’s shop-counter was now a 
man of high intellect and recognized supremacy in art, 
instructing students, in the character of Professor of 
Sculpture to the Royal Academy. And no man better 
deserved to fill that distinguished office; for none is so 
able to instruct others as he who, for himself and by his 
own efforts, has learned to grapple with and overcome 
difficulties. After a long, peaceful, and happy life, 
Flaxman found himself growing old. The loss which 
he sustained by the death of his affectionate wife Ann 
was a severe shock to him; but he survived her several 
years, during which he executed his celebrated “ Shield 
of Achilles,” and his noble u Archangel Michael van¬ 
quishing Satan”—perhaps his two greatest works. 

The same honest and persistent industry was through¬ 
out distinctive of the career of David Wilkie. The son 
of a Scotch minister, he gave early indications of an 
artistic turn; and though he was a negligent and inapt 
scholar, he was a sedulous drawer of faces and figures. 
A silent boy, he already displayed that quiet concen¬ 
trated energy of character which distinguished him 


348 


David Wilkie. 


through life. He was always on the lookout for an 
opportunity to draw—and the walls of the manse, or 
the smooth sand by the river side, were alike conven¬ 
ient for his purpose. Any sort of tool would serve him ; 
like Giotto, he found a pencil in a burnt stick, a pre¬ 
pared canvas in any smooth stone, and the subject for 
a picture in every ragged mendicant he met. When 
he visited a house he generally left his mark on the 
walls as an indication of his presence, sometimes to the 
disgust of cleanly housewives. In short, notwithstand¬ 
ing the aversion of his father, the minister, to the 
“ sinful ” profession of painting, Wilkie’s strong pro¬ 
pensity was not to be thwarted, and he became an artist; 
working his way manfully up the steep of difficulty. 
Though rejected on his first application as a candidate 
for admission to the Scottish Academy, at Edinburgh, 
on account of the rudeness and inaccuracy of his intro¬ 
ductory specimens, he persevered in producing better, 
until he was admitted. But his progress was slow. He 
applied himself diligently to the drawing of the human 
figure, and held on with the determination to succeed, 
as if with a resolute confidence as to the result. He 
displayed none of the eccentric humor and fitful appli¬ 
cation of many youths who conceive themselves geniu¬ 
ses, but kept up the routine of steady application to 
such an extent that he himself was afterwards accus¬ 
tomed to attribute his success to his dogged persever¬ 
ance rather than to any higher innate power. “ The 
single element,” he said, “ in all the progressive move¬ 
ments of my pencil was persevering industry.” At 
Edinburgh he gained a few premiums, thought of turn- 


David Wilkie's Industry . 349 

ing his attention to portrait-painting, with a view to its 
higher and more certain remuneration, but eventually 
went boldly into the line in which he earned his fame— 
and painted his Pitlessie Fair. What was bolder still, 
he determined to proceed to London, on account of its 
presenting so much wider a field for study and work; 
and the poor Scotch lad arrived in town, and painted his 
“Village Politicians” while living in a humble lodging on 
eighteen shillings a week. 

Notwithstanding the success of this picture, and the 
commissions which followed it, Wilkie long continued 
poor. The prices which his works realized were not 
great, for he bestowed upon them so much time and 
labor, that his earnings continued comparatively small 
for many years. Every picture was carefully studied 
and elaborated beforehand; nothing was struck off at 
a heat; many occupied him for years—touching, re¬ 
touching, and improving them until they finally passed 
out of his hands. As with Reynolds, his motto was, 
“Work! work! work!’’and, like him, he expressed, 
great dislike for talking artists. Talkers may sow, but 
the silent reap. “ Let us be doing something,” was his 
oblique mode of rebuking the loquacious and admon¬ 
ishing the idle. He once related to his friend Consta¬ 
ble that when he studied at the Scottish Academy, Gra¬ 
ham, the master of it, was accustomed to say to the 
students, in the words of Reynolds, “If you have gen¬ 
ius, industry will improve it; if you have none, indus 
try will supply its place.” “ So,” said Wilkie, “ I was 
determined to be very industrious, for I knew I had no 
genius.” Pie also told Constable that when Linnell and 


350 


Martin . 


Burnett, his fellow-students in London, were talking 
about art, he always contrived to get as close to them 
as he could to hear all they said, “ for,” said he, “ they 
know a great deal, and I know very little.” This was 
said with perfect sincerity, for Wilkie was habitually 
modest. One of the first things that he did with the 
sum of thirty pounds which he obtained from Lord 
Mansfield for his “Village Politicians,” was to buy a 
present—of bonnets, shawls, and dresses—for his 
mother and sister at home; though but little able to 
afford it at the time. Wilkie’s early poverty had 
trained him in the habits of strict economy, which were 
however, consistent with a noble liberality. 

Many artists have had to encounter privations which 
have tried their courage and endurance to the utmost 
before they succeeded. What number may have sunk 
under them we can never know. Martin encountered 
difficulties in the course of his career such as perhaps 
fall to the lot of few. More than once he found him¬ 
self on the verge of starvation while engaged on his 
first great picture. It is related of him that on one oc¬ 
casion he found himself reduced to his last shilling—a 
bright shilling—which he had kept because of its very 
brightness, but at length he found it necessary to ex¬ 
change it for bread. He went to a baker’s shop, bought 
a loaf, and was taking it away, when the baker snatched 
it from him, and tossed back the shilling to the starv¬ 
ing painter. The bright shilling had failed him in his 
hour of need—it was a bad one! Returning to his 
lodgings, he rummaged his trunk for some remaining 
crust to satisfy his hunger. Upheld throughout by the 


James Sharpies. 


351 


victorious power of enthusiasm, he pursued his design 
with unsubdued energy. He had the courage to work 
on and to wait; and when, a few days after, he found 
an opportunity to exhibit his picture, he was from that 
time famous. Like many other great artists, his life 
proves that, despite outward circumstances, genius, 
aided by industry, will be its own protector, and that 
fame, though she comes late, will never ultimately re¬ 
fuse her favors to real merit. 

Another striking exemplification of perseverance and 
industry in the cultivation of art in humble life is pre¬ 
sented in the career of James Sharpies, a working 
blacksmith at Blackburn. He was one of a family of 
thirteen children. His father was a working iron- 
founder. The boys received no school education, but 
were all sent to work as soon as they were able; and 
at about ten James was placed in a foundry, where he 
was employed for about two years as smithy-boy. After 
that he was sent into the engine-shop where his father 
worked as engine-smith. The boy’s employment was 
to heat and carry rivets for the boiler-makers. Though 
his hours of labor were very long—often from six in 
the morning until eight at night—his father contrived 
to give him some little teaching after working hours; 
and it was thus that he partially learned his letters. An 
incident occurred in the course of his employment 
among the boiler-makers, which first awakened in him 
the desire to learn drawing. He had occasionally been 
employed by the foreman to hold the chalked line with 
which he made the designs of boilers upon the floor of 
the workshop; and on such occasions the foreman was 


352 


James Sharpies, 


accustomed to hold the line, and direct the boy to make 
the necessary dimensions. James soon became so ex¬ 
pert at this as to be of considerable service to the fore¬ 
man; and at his leisure hours at home his great delight 
was to practice drawing designs of boilers upon his 
mother’s floor. On one occasion, when a female rela¬ 
tive was expected from Manchester to pay the family 
a visit, and the house had been made as decent as pos¬ 
sible for her reception, the boy, on coming in from the 
foundry in the evening, began his usual operations 
upon the floor. He had proceeded some way with his 
design of a large boiler in chalk, when his mother ar¬ 
rived with the visitor, and to her dismay, found the boy 
unwashed, and the floor chalked all over. The relative, 
however, professed to be pleased with the boy’s indus¬ 
try, praised his design, and recommended his mother 
to provide “ the little sweep,” as she called him, with 
paper and pencils. 

Encouraged by his elder brother, he began to prac¬ 
tice figure and landscape drawing, making copies of 
lithographs, but as yet without any knowledge of the 
rules of perspective and the principles of light and 
shade. He worked on, however, and gradually ac¬ 
quired expertness in copying. At sixteen, he entered 
the Bury Mechanic’s Institution in order to attend the 
drawing-class, taught by an amateur who followed the 
trade of a barber. There he had a lesson a week dur¬ 
ing three # months. The teacher recommended him to 
obtain from the library Burnet’s “ Practical Treatise on 
Painting; ” but as he could not yet read with ease, he 
was under the necessity of getting his mother, and 


353 


Incessant Study . 

sometimes his elder brother, to read passages from the 
book for him while he sat by and listened. Feeling 
hampered by his ignorance of the art of reading, and 
eager to master the contents of Burnet’s book, he ceased 
attending the drawing-class at the Institute after the 
first quarter, and devoted himself to learning reading 
and writing at home. In this he soon succeeded; and 
when he again entered the Institute and took out “Bur¬ 
net ” a second time, he was not only able to read it, but 
to make written extracts for future use. So ardently 
did he study the volume, that he used to rise at four 
o’clock in the morning to read it and copy out passages; 
after which he went to the foundry at six, worked 
until six and sometimes eight in the evening; and re¬ 
turned home to enter with fresh zest upon the study of 
Burnet, which he continued often until a late hour. 
Parts of his nights were also occupied in drawing and 
making copies of drawings. On one of these he spent 
an entire night. He went to bed, indeed, but his mind 
was so engrossed with the subject that he could not 
sleep, and rose again to resume his pencil. He next 
proceeded to try his hand at painting in oil, for which 
purpose he procured some canvas from a draper, 
stretched it on a frame, coated it over with white lead, 
and began painting on it with colors bought from a 
house-painter. But his work proved a total failure; 
for the canvas was rough and knotty, and the paint 
would not dry. In his extremity he applied to his old 
teacher, the barber, from whom he first learnt that pre¬ 
pared canvas was to be had, and that there were colors 
and varnishes made for the special purpose of oil-paint- 

23 


354 


Yames Sharpies . 


ing. As soon, therefore, as his means would allow, he 
bought a small stock of the necessary articles and be¬ 
gan afresh—his amateur master showing him how to 
paint; and the pupil succeeded so well that he excelled 
the master’s copy. His first picture was a copy from 
an engraving called “ Sheep-shearing ” and was after¬ 
wards sold by him for half-a-crown. Aided by a shil¬ 
ling Guide to Oil-Painting, he went on working at his 
leisure hours, and gradually acquired a better knowl¬ 
edge of his materials. He made his own easel and pal¬ 
ette, palette-knife, and paint-chest; he bought his paint, 
brushes, and canvas, as he could raise the money by 
working over-time. This was the slender fund which 
his parents consented to allow him for the purpose; the 
burden of supporting a very large family precluding 
them from doing more. Often he would walk to Man¬ 
chester and back in the evenings to buy two or three 
shillings’ worth of paint and canvas, returning almost 
at midnight, after his eighteen .miles’ walk, sometimes 
wet through and completely exhausted, but borne up 
throughout by his inexhaustible hope and invincible de¬ 
termination. The further progress of the self-taught 
artist is best narrated in his own words. 

“ The next pictures I painted,” he says, a were a 
Landscape by Moonlight, a Fruit-piece, and one or two 
others; after which I conceived the idea of painting 
4 The Forge.’ I had for some time thought about it, 
but had not attempted to embody the conception in a 
drawing. I now, however, made a sketch of the sub¬ 
ject upon paper, and then proceeded to paint it on can¬ 
vas. The picture simply represents the interior of a 


355 


A utobiography. 

large workshop such as I have been accustomed to work 
in, although not of any particular shop. It is, therefore, 
to this extent, an original conception. Having made an 
outline of the subject, I found that, before I could pro¬ 
ceed with it succesfully, a knowledge of anatomy was 
indispensable to enable me accurately to delineate the 
muscles of the figure. My brother Peter came to my as¬ 
sistance at this juncture, and kindly purchased for me 
Flaxman’s 4 Anatomical Studies ’—a work altogether 
beyond my means at the time, for it cost twenty-four 
shillings. This book I looked upon as a great treasure, 
and I studied it laboriously, rising at three o’clock in 
the morning to draw after it, and occasionally getting 
my brother Peter to stand for me as a model at that un¬ 
timely hour. Although I gradually improved myself 
by this practice, it was some time before I felt sufficient 
confidence to go on with my picture. I also felt ham¬ 
pered by my want of knowledge of perspective, which 
I endeavored to remedy by carefully studying Taylor’s 
* Principles; ’ and shortly after I resumed my painting. 
While engaged in the study of perspective at home, I 
used to apply for and obtain leave to work at the heavier 
kinds of smith-work at the foundry, and for this reason 
—the time required for heating the heaviest iron work 
is so much longer than that required for heating the 
lighter, that it enabled me to secure a number of spare 
minutes in the course of each day, which I carefully 
employed in making diagrams in perspective upon the 
sheet-iron casings in front of the hearth at which I 
worked. ” 

Thus assiduously working and studying, James Shar- 


356 


yantes Sharpies. 


pies steadily advanced in his knowledge of the princi¬ 
ples of art, and acquired greater facility in its practice. 
Some eighteen months after the expiration of his ap¬ 
prenticeship he painted a portrait of his father, which 
attracted considerable notice in the town; as also did 
the picture of “ The Forge,” which he finished soon 
after. His success in portrait-painting obtained for him 
a commission from the,foreman of the shop to paint a 
family group, and Sharpies executed it so well that the 
foreman not only paid him the agreed price of eighteen 
pounds, but thirty shillings to boot. While engaged 
on this group he ceased to work at the foundry, and he 
had thoughts of giving up his trade altogether and de¬ 
voting himself exclusively to painting. But not ob¬ 
taining sufficient employment at portraits to occupy his 
time, or give him the prospect of a steady income, he 
had the good sense to resume his leather apron, and go 
on working at his honest trade of a blacksmith; em¬ 
ploying his leisure hours in engraving his picture of 
u The Forge,” since published. 

The execution of this work occupied Sharpies’ leis¬ 
ure evening hours during a period of five years; and 
it was only when he took the plate to the printer that 
* he for the first time saw an engraved plate produced 
by any other man. To this unvarnished picture of in¬ 
dustry and genius we add one other trait, and it is a 
domestic one. “ I have been married seven years,” 
says he, “and during that time my greatest pleasure, 
after I have finished my daily labor at the foundry, has 
been to resume my pencil or graver, frequently until a 
late hour of the evening, my wife meanwhile sitting by 


Industry of Musicians . 


357 


my side and reading to me from some interesting 
book ”—a simple but beautiful testimony to the thor¬ 
ough common sense as well as the genuine right-heart- 
edness of this most interesting and deserving work¬ 
man. 

Haydn, speaking of his art, said, “ It consists in tak¬ 
ing up a subject and pursuing it.” “ Work,” said Mo¬ 
zart, “ is my chief pleasure.” Beethoven’s favorite 
maxim was, “ The barriers are not erected which can 
say to aspiring talents and industry, 4 Thus far and no 
farther.’ ” When Moscheles submitted his score of 
“ Fidelio ” for the pianoforte to Beethoven, the latter 
found written at the bottom of the last page, “ Finis, 
with God’s help.” Beethoven immediately wrote un¬ 
derneath, “ O man! help thyself! ” This was the mot¬ 
to of his artistic life. John SebastianBach said of him¬ 
self, “I was, industrious; whoever is equally sedulous 
will be equally successful.” Of Meyerbeeer, Bayle 
thus wrote: “ He is a man of some talent, but no gen¬ 
ius; he lives solitary, working fifteen hours a day at 
music.” Years passed, and Meyerbeer’s hard work 
fully brought out his genius, as displayed in his “ Hu- 
genots,” and other works, confessedly amongst the 
greatest operas which have been produced in modern 
times. 



CHAPTER XIV. 


MEN OF BUSINESS. 

“ Seest thou a man diligent in his business ? He shall stand before kings.’* 
—Proverbs of Solomon. 

“ That man is but of the lower part of the world that is not brought up to* 
business and affairs.”— Owen Feltham. 

AZLITT, in one of his clever essays, rep¬ 
resents the man of business as a mean sort of 
person put in a go-cart, yoked to a trade or 
profession; alleging that all he has to do is, 
not to go out of the beaten track, but merely to let his 
affairs take their own course. “The great requisite, n 
he says, “ for the prosperous management of ordinary 
business is the want of imagination, or of any ideas but 
those of custom and interest on the narrowest scale.’* 
But nothing could be more one-sided, and in effect un¬ 
true, than such a definition. Of course there are nar¬ 
row-minded men of business, as there are narrow¬ 
minded scientific men, literary men, and legislators; but 
there are also business men of large and comprehensive 
minds, capable of action on the very largest scale. As 
Burke said in his speech on the India Bill, he knew 
statesmen who were peddlers, and merchants who acted 
in the spirit of statesmen. 

If we take into account the qualities necessary for 






Genius and Business. 


359 


the successful conduct of any important undertaking— 
that it requires special aptitude, prompitude of action 
on emergencies, capacity for organizing the labors 
often of large numbers of men, great tact and knowledge 
of human nature, constant self-culture, and growing 
experience in the practical affairs of life—it must, we 
think, be obvious that the school of business is by no 
means so narrow as some writers would have us be¬ 
lieve. Mr. Helps has gone much nearer the truth when 
he said that consummate men of business are as rare 
almost as great poets—rarer, perhaps, than veritable 
saints and martyrs. Indeed, of no other pursuit can it 
so emphatically be said, as of this, that “ Business makes 
men.” 

It has, however, been a favorite fallacy with dunces 
in all times, that men of genius are unfitted for business, 
as well as that business occupations unfit men for the pur¬ 
suits of genius. The unhappy youth who committed 
suicide a few years since because he had been “ born to 
be a man and condemned to be a grocer,” proved by 
the act that his soul was not equal even to the dignity 
of grocery; for it is not the calling that degrades a man, 
but the man that degrades the calling. All work that 
brings honest gain is honorable, whether it be of hand 
or mind. The fingers may be soiled, yet the heart re¬ 
main pure; for it is not material so much as moral dirt 
that defiles—greed far more than crime, and vice than 
verdigris. 

The greatest have not disdained to labor honestly 
and usefully for a living, though at the same time aim¬ 
ing after higher things. Thales, the first of the seven 


Great Men of Business . 


360 


sages, Solon, the seeond founder of Athens, and Hyper- 
ates, the mathematician, were all traders. Plato, called 
the Divine by reason of the excellence of his wisdom, 
defrayed his traveling expenses in Egypt by the profits 
derived from the oil which he sold during his journey. 
Spinoza maintained himself by polishing glasses while 
he pursued his philosophical investigations. Linnaeus, 
the great botanist, prosecuted his studies while ham¬ 
mering leather and making shoes. Shakspeare was a 
successful manager of a theatre—perhaps priding him¬ 
self more upon his practical qualities in that capacity 
than on his writing of plays and poetry. Pope was of 
opinion that Shakspeare’s principal object in cultivating 
literature was to secure an honest independence. In¬ 
deed he seems to have been altogether indifferent to 
literary reputation. It is not known that he superin¬ 
tended the publication of a single play, or even sanc¬ 
tioned the printing of one; and the chronology of his 
writings is still a mystery. It is certain, however, that 
he prospered in his business, and realized sufficient to 
enable him to retire upon a competency to his native 
town. 

We have abundant illustrations, in our own day, of 
the fact that the highest intellectual power is not incom¬ 
patible with the active and efficient performance of 
routine duties. Grote, the great historian of Greece, 
was a London banker. And it is not long since John 
Stuart Mill, one of our greatest living thinkers, retired 
from the Examiner’s department of the East India 
Company, carrying with him the admiration and es¬ 
teem of his fellow-offkers, not on account of his high 


Success i?i Business. 


361 


views of philosophy, but because of the high standard 
of efficiency which he had established in his office, and 
the thoroughly satisfactory manner in which he had 
conducted the business of his department. 

The path of success in business is usually the path 
of common sense. Patient labor and application are 
as necessary here as in the acquisition of knowledge or 
the pursuit of science. The old Greeks said, u To be¬ 
come an able man in any profession, three things are 
necessary—nature, study, and practice.” In business, 
practice, wisely and diligently improved, is the great 
secret of success. Some may make what are called 
“ lucky hits,” but like money earned by gambling, such 

hits ” ma}^ only serve to lure one to ruin. 

Every youth should be made to feel that his happi¬ 
ness and well-doing in life must necessarily rely mainly 
on himself and the exercise of his own energies, rather 
than upon the help and patronage of others. The late 
Lord Melbourne embodied a piece of useful advice in 
a letter which he wrote to Lord John Russell, in reply 
to an application for a provision for one of Moore the 
poet’s sons: “ My dear John J’ he said, “I return you 
Moore’s letter. I shall be ready to do what you like 
about it when we have the means. I think whatever 
is done should be done for Moore himself. This is more 
•distinct, direct, and intelligible. Making a small pro¬ 
vision for young men is hardly justifiable; and it is of 
all things the most prejudicial to themselves. They 
think what they have much larger than it really is; and 
they make no exertion. The young should never hear 
any .language but this: ‘ You have your own way to 


362 


Effects of Practical Industry . 


make, and it depends upon your own exertions whether 
you starve or not.’ Believe me, etc., Melbourne.” 

Practical industry, wisely and vigorously applied, 
always produces its due effects. It carries a man on¬ 
ward, brings out his individual character, and stimu¬ 
lates the actions of others. All may not rise equally, 
yet each, on the whole, very much according to his de¬ 
serts. “ Though all cannot live on the piazza,” as the 
Tuscan proverb has it, “every one may feel the sun.” 

On the whole, it is not good that human nature 
should have the road of life made too easy. Better to 
be under the necessity of working hard and faring 
meanly, than to have every thing done ready to our 
hand and a pillow of down to repose upon. Indeed, to 
start in life with comparatively small means seems SO' 
necessary as a stimulus to work, that it may almost be 
set down as one of the conditions essential to success 
in life. Hence, an eminent judge, when asked what 
contributed most to success at the bar, replied, “ Some 
succeed by great talent, some by high connections, 
some by miracle, but the majority by commencing 
without a shilling.” 

We have heard of an architect of considerable ac¬ 
complishments—a man who had improved himself by 
long study, and travel in the classical lands of the East 
—who came home to commence the practice of his- 
profession. He determined to begin anywhere, pro¬ 
vided he could be employed; and he accordingly under¬ 
took a business connected with dilapidations—one of 
the lowest and least remunerative departments of the 
architect’s calling. But he had the good sense not to 


The Necessity of Labor . 36$ 

be above his trade, and he had the resolution to work 
his way upward, so that he only got a fair start. One 
hot day in July a friend found him sitting astride of a 
house-roof occupied with his dilapidation business. 
Drawing his hand across his perspiring countenance, he 
exclaimed, “ Here’s a pretty business for a man who 
has been all over Greece! ” However, he did his work* 
such as it was, thoroughly and well; he persevered 
until he advanced by degrees to more remunerative 
branches of employment, and eventually he rose to the 
highest walks of his profession. 

The - necessity of labor may, indeed, be regarded as 
the main root arid spring of all that we call progress 
in individuals, and civilization in nations; and it is 
doubtful that any heavier curse could be imposed on 
man than the gratification of all bis wishes without ef¬ 
fort on his part, leaving nothing for his hopes, desires* 
or struggles. The feeling that life is destitute of any 
motive or necessity for action, must be of all others the 
most distressing and insupportable to a rational being. 
The Marquis de Spinola asking Sir Horace Vere what 
his brother died of, Sir Horace replied, “ He died, sir, 
of having nothing to do.” “ Alas! ” said Spinola, “ that 
is enough to kill any general of us all.” 

Those who fail in life are, however, very apt to as¬ 
sume a tone of injured innocence, and conclude too 
hastily that everybody excepting themselves has had a 
hand in their personal misfortune. There is a Russian 
proverb which says that misfortune is next door to 
stupidity; and it will often be found that men who are 
constantly lamenting their luck, are in some way or 


3G4 


Action in Detail. 


other reaping the consequences of their own neglect, 
mismanagement, improvidence, or want of application. 
Dr. Johnson, who came up to London with a single 
guinea in his pocket, and who once accurately described 
himself in his signature to a letter addressed to a noble 
lord, as Impransus , or Dinnerless, has honestly said, 
u All the complaints which are made of the world are 
unjust; I never knew a man of merit neglected; it was 
generally by his own fault that he failed of success.” 

Washington Irving held like views. u As for the 
talk,” he said, “ about modest merit being neglected, it 
is too often a cant, by which indolent and irresolute 
men seek to lay their want of success at the door of 
the public. Modest merit is, however, too apt to be 
inactive, or negligent, or uninstructed merit. Well- 
matured and well disciplined talent is always sure of a 
market, provided it exerts itself; but it must not cower 
at home and expect to be sought for. There is a good 
deal of cant, too, about the success of forward and im¬ 
pudent men, while men of retiring worth are passed 
over with neglect. But it usually happens that those 
forward men have that valuable quality of promptness 
and activity without which worth is a mere inoperative 
property. A barking dog is often more useful than a 
sleeping lion.” 

Attention, application, accuracy, method, punctuality, 
and dispatch, are the principal qualities required for 
the efficient conduct of business of any sort. These, at 
first sight, may appear to be small matters; and yet 
they are of essential importance to human happiness, 
well-being, and usefulness. They are little things, it is 


Necessity of Accuracy in Business . 365 

true; but human life is made up of comparative trifles. 
It is the repetition of little acts which constitutes not 
only the sum of human character, but which determ¬ 
ines the character of nations. And where men or na¬ 
tions have broken down, it will almost invariably be 
found that neglect of little things was the rock on which 
they split. Every human being has duties to be per¬ 
formed, and, therefore, has need of cultivating the 
capacity for doing them; whether the sphere of action 
be the management of a household, the conduct of a 
trade or profession, or the government of a nation. 

The examples we have already given of great work¬ 
ers in various branches of industry, art, and science, 
render it unnecessary further to enforce the importance 
of persevering application in airy department of life. 
It is the result of every-day experience, that steady 
attention to matters of detail lies at the root of human 
progress; and that diligence, above all, is the mother 
of good luck. Accuracy is also of much importance, 
and an invariable mark of good training in a man— 
accuracy in observation, accuracy in speech, accurac} r 
in the transaction of affairs. What is done in business 
must be well done; for it is better to accomplish per¬ 
fectly a small amount of work, than to half-do ten times 
as much. A wise man used to say, “Stay a little, that 
we may make an end the sooner.” 

Too little attention, however, is paid to this highly 
important quality of accuracy. Asa man eminent in 
practical sciences lately observed to us, u it is astonish¬ 
ing how few people I have met with the course of my 
experience who can define a fact accurate 1 )*.” Yet 


366 Necessity of Accuracy in Business . 

in business affairs, it is the manner in which even small 
matters are transacted, that often decides men for or 
against you. With virtue, capacity, and good conduct 
in other respects, the person who is habitually inaccu¬ 
rate can not be trusted; his work has to be gone over 
again; and he thus causes an infinity of annoyance, 
vexation, and trouble. It was one of the characteris¬ 
tic qualities of Charles James Fox, that he was thor¬ 
oughly pains-taking in all that he did. When appointed 
Secretary of State, being piqued at some observation 
as to his bad writing, he actually took a writing-master, 
and wrote copies like a school-boy until he had suffic¬ 
iently improved himself. 

Method is essential, and enables a larger amount of 
work to be got through with satisfaction. “ Method,” 
said the Rev. Richard Cecil, “isdike packing things in 
a box; .a good packer will get in half as much again as 
a bad one.” Cecil’s dispatch of business was extraor¬ 
dinary, his maxim being, “ the shortest way to do many 
things is to do only one thing at once; ” and he never 
left a thing undone with a view of recurring to it at a 
period of more leisure. When business pressed he 
rather chose to encroach on his hours of meals and rest 
than omit any part of his work. DeWitt’s maxim was 
like Cecil’s: “ One thing at a time.” “ If,” said he, “ I 
have any necessary dispatches to make, I think of noth¬ 
ing else till they are finished; if any domestic affairs 
require my attention, I give myself wholly up to them 
till they are set in order.” 

A French minister, who was alike remarkable for his 
dispatch of business and his constant attendance at 


Promptitude . 


367 


places of amusement, being asked how he contrived to 
combine both objects, replied, u Simply by never post¬ 
poning till to-morrow what should be done to-day.” 
Men are apt to rely upon agents, who are not always to 
be relied upon. Important affairs must be attended to 
in person. “ If you want your business done,” says 
the proverb, “ go and do it; if you don’t want it done, 
send some one else.” An indolent country gentleman 
had a freehold estate producing about five hundred a 
year. Becoming involved in debt, be sold half the es¬ 
tate, and let the remainder to an industrious farmer for 
twenty years. About the end of the term the farmer 
called to pay his rent, and asked the owner whether he 
would sell the farm. “ Will you buy it? ” asked the 
owner, surprised. “Yes, if we can agree about the 
price.*’ “That is exceedingly strange,” observed the 
gentleman; “ pray tell me how it happens that, while I 
could not live upon twice as much land, for which I 
paid no rent, you are regularly paying me two hundred 
a year for your farm, and are able, in a few years, to 
purchase it.” “The reason is plain,” was the reply; 

you sat still and said Go, I got up and said Come/ 
you lay in bed and enjoyed your estate, I rose in the 
morning and minded my business.” 

Promptitude in action may be stimulated by a due 
consideration of the value of time. An Italian philos¬ 
opher was accustomed to call time his estate—an es¬ 
tate which produces nothing of value without cultiva¬ 
tion, but, duly improved, never fails to recompense the 
labors of the diligent worker. Allowed to lie waste, 
the product will be only noxious weeds and vicious 


368 


Economical Use of Time . 


growths of all kinds. One of the minor uses of steady 
employment is, that it keeps one out of mischief, for 
truly an idle brain is the devil’s workshop, and a lazy 
man the devil’s bolster. To be occupied is to be pos¬ 
sessed as by a tenant, whereas to be idle is to be 
empty; and when the doors of the imagination are 
opened, temptation finds a ready access, and evil thoughts 
come trooping in. It is observed at sea, that men 
are never so much disposed to grumble and mutiny as 
when least employed. Hence, an old captain, when 
there was nothing else to do, would issue the order to 
u scour the anchor! ” Men of business are accustomed 
to quote the maxim that Time is money; but it is more; 
the proper improvement of it is self-culture, self-im¬ 
provement, and growth of character. An hour wasted 
daily on trifles or in indolence would, if devoted to self- 
improvement, make an ignorant man wise in a few 
years, and, employed in good works, would make his 
life fruitful, and death a harvest of worthy deeds. Fif¬ 
teen minutes a day devoted to self-improvement, will 
be felt at the end of the year. Good thoughts and care¬ 
fully gathered experience take up no room, and may be 
carried about as our companions everywhere, without 
cost or incumbrance. An economical use of time is 
the true mode of securing leisure; it enables us to get 
through business and carr^ it forward, instead of being 
driven by it. On the other hand, the miscalculation of 
time involves us in perpetual hurry, confusion and diffi¬ 
culties; and life becomes a mere shuffle of expedients, 
usually followed by disaster. Nelson once said, “ I owe 
all my success in life to having been always a quarter 


Punctuality . 


369 


of an hour before my time.” Some take no thought of 
the value of money until they have come to an end of 
it, and many do the same with their time. The hours 
are allowed to flow by unemployed, and then, when life 
is fast waning, they bethink themselves of the duty of 
making a wiser use of it. But the habit of listlessness 
and idleness may already have become confirmed, 
and they are unable to break the bonds with which 
they have permitted themselves to become bound. 
Lost wealth may be replaced by industry, lost 
knowledge by study, lost health by temperance or 
medicine, but lost time is gone forever. A pro¬ 
per consideration of the value of time will also 
inspire habits of punctuality. Nothing begets confi¬ 
dence in a man sooner than the practice of this virtue, 
and nothing shakes confidence sooner than the want of 
it. He who holds to his appointment and does not keep 
you waiting for him, shows that he has regard for your 
time as well as for his own. Thus punctuality is one of 
the modes by which we testify our personal respect for 
those whom we are called upon to meet in the business 
of life. It is also conscientiousness, in a measure; for 
an appointment is a contract, express or implied, and he 
who does not keep it breaks faith, as well as dishonest¬ 
ly uses other people’s time, and thus inevitably loses 
character. We naturally come to the conclusion that 
the person who is careless about time is careless about 
business, and that he is not the one to be trusted with 
the transaction of matters of importance. When Wash¬ 
ington’s secretary excused himself for the lateness of 
his attendance and laid the blame upon his watch, his 

24 


870 


Ho?iesty the Best Policy . 


master quietly said, “ Then you must get another watch, 
or I another secretary.” 

The truth of the good old maxim, that u Honesty is 
the best policy,” is upheld by the daily experience of 
life, uprightness and integrity being found as successful 
in business as in every thing else. Integrity of word 
and deed ought to be the very corner-stone of all busi¬ 
ness transactions. To the tradesman, the merchant, 
and manufacturer, it should be what honor is to the sol¬ 
dier, and charity is to the Christian. In the humblest 
calling there will always be found scope for the exercise 
of this uprightness of character. Hugh Miller speaks 
of the mason with whom he served his apprenticeship, 
as one who u put his conscience into eveiy stone that he 
laidP So the true mechanic will pride himself upon 
the thoroughness and solidity of his work, and the 
high-minded contractor upon the honesty of perform¬ 
ance of his contract in every particular. The upright 
manufacturer will find not only honor and reputation, 
but substantial success, in the genuineness of the article 
which he produces, and the merchant in the honesty of 
what he sells, and that it really is what it seems to be. 
Baron Dupin, speaking of the general probity of Eng¬ 
lishmen, which he held to be a principle cause of their 
success, observed, “ We may succeed for a time by 
fraud, by surprise, by violence; but we can succeed 
permanently only by means directly opposite. It is not 
alone the courage, the intelligence, the activity of the 
merchant and manufacturer which maintains the superi¬ 
ority of their productions and the character of their 
country; it is far more their wisdom, their economy, 


371 


Uprightness in Business. 

and, above all, their probity. If ever in the British 
Islands the useful citizen should lose these virtues, we 
may be sure that, for England, as for every other coun¬ 
try, the vessels of a degenerate commerce, repulsed 
from every shore, would speedily disappear from those 
seas whose surface thhy now cover with the treasures of 
the universe, bartered for the treasures of the industry 
of the three kingdoms.” 

It must be admitted, that trade tries character per¬ 
haps more severely than any other pursuit in life. It 
puts to the severest tests honesty, self-denial, justice, 
and truthfulness; and men of business who pass through 
such trials unstained are perhaps worthy of as great 
honor as soldiers who prove their courage amidst the 
fire and perils of battle. And, to the credit of the mul¬ 
titudes of men engaged in the various departments of 
trade, we think it must be admitted that on the whole 
they pass through their trials nobly. If we reflect but 
for a moment on the vast amount of wealth ^daily in¬ 
trusted even to the subordinate persons, who them¬ 
selves probably earn but a bare competency—the loose 
cash which is constantly passing through the hands of 
shopmen, agents, brokers, and clerks in banking-houses 
—and note how comparatively few are the breaches of 
trust which occur amidst all this temptation, it will 
probably be admitted that this steady daily honesty 
of conduct is more honorable to human nature, if it do 
not even tempt us to be proud of it. The same trust 
and confidence reposed by men of business in each 
other, as implied by the system of credit, which is 
mainly based upon the principle of honor, would be 


372 


The Rothschilds . 


surprising if it were not so much a matter of ordinary 
practice in business transactions. Dr. Chalmers has 
well said that the implicit trust with which merchants 
are accustomed to confide in distant agents, separated 
from them perhaps by half the globe—often consigning 
vast wealth to persons recommended only by their 
character, whom perhaps they have never seen—is 
probably the finest act of homage which men can ren¬ 
der to one another. 

The fortunes of the house of Rothschild were based 
upon the honesty of their founder—Meyer Anselm. 
He was born at Frankfort-on-the-Maine in 1743. His 
parents were Jews. What a frightful history might 
be written of the persecutions, tortures and martyrdoms 
of the Jews in the Middle Ages, and even down to our 
own times. At Frankfort, as well as at other towns 
and cities in Germany, the Jews were compelled to re¬ 
sort to their quarters at a certain hour in the evening, 
under penalty of death. The Juden-gasse at Frankfort 
was shut in by gates, which were locked at night. Na¬ 
poleon blew them down with cannon, one of the best 
things he ever did; yet the persecutions of the Jews 
continued. 

Young Anslem lost his parents at eleven, and had 
to fight his way through life alone. After a slight 
modicum of education, the boy had the good fortune 
to find a place v as clerk to a small banker and money 
changer at Hanover. He returned to Frankfort in 
1772, and established himself as a broker and money¬ 
lender. Over his shop he hung the sign of the Red 
Shield—in German, Rothschild. He collected ancient 


Tlieir Honesty. 


373 


and rare coins, and among the amateurs who frequented 
his shop was the Landgrave William, afterward Elector 
of Hesse. 

When Napoleon overran Europe, William of Hesse 
was driven from his states, and left all the money he 
could gather together in the hands of Anselm, his agent. 
It amounted to $1,250,000. How to take care of this 
money and make it grow in his hands was Anselm’s 
greatest pbject. Money in those days was very dear; 
it returned twelve or even twenty per cent, on good 
security. The war went on. Russia was invaded by 
Napoleon. His army was all but lost in the snow. 
The battle of Leipsic was fought, and Napoleon and 
his army were hurled acr'oss the Rhine. The Land¬ 
grave of Hesse then returned to his states. A few 
days after, the eldest son of Meyer Anselm presented 
himself at court and handed over to the Landgrave the 
three millions of florins which his father had taken care 
of. The Landgrave was almost beside himself with 
joy. He looked upon the restored money as a wind¬ 
fall. In his exultation he knighted the young Roths¬ 
child at once. “ Such honesty,” his Highness exclaimed, 
u had never been known in the world.” At the Con¬ 
gress of Vienna, where he went shortly after, he could 
talk of nothing else than the honesty of the Rothschilds. 
Anselm had a large family. They followed his exam¬ 
ple, and thus the Rothschilds became the largest money¬ 
lenders in the world. 


CHAPTER XV. 


MONEY—ITS USE AND ABUSE. 


“ Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train attendant, 

But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent.’’—B urns. 

“ Neither a borrower nor a lender be : 

For loan oft loses both itself and friend ; 

And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.”— Shakspeare. 

“ Whoever has a sixpence is sovereign over all men to the extent of that six¬ 
pence, commands cooks to feed him, philosophers to teach him, kings to guard 
over him—to the extent of that sixpence.”— Carlyle. 

OW a man uses money—makes it, saves it, and 
spends it—is perhaps one of the best tests of 
practical wisdom. Although money ought by 
no means to be regarded as the chief end of 
man’s life, neither is it a trifling matter, to be held in 
philosophic contempt, representing, as it does, to so 
large an extent, the means of physical comfort and so¬ 
cial well-being. Indeed, some of the finest qualities of 
human nature are intimately related to the right use of 
money—such as generosity, honesty, justice, and self- 
sacrifice, as well as the practical virtues of economy and 
providence. On the other hand, there are their coun¬ 
terparts of avarice, fraud, injustice, and selfishness, as 
displayed by the inordinate lovers of gain; and the 
vices of thriftlessness, extravagance, and improvidence, 






Self-denial. 


375 


on the part of those who misuse and abuse the means 
intrusted to “them. “So that,” as is wisely observed 
by Henry Taylor, in his thoughtful 4 Notes from Life,’ 
“ a right measure and manner in getting, saving, spend¬ 
ing, giving, taking, lending, borrowing, and bequeath¬ 
ing, would almost argue a perfect man.” 

Comfort in worldly circumstances is a condition 
which every man is justified in striving to attain by all 
worthy means. It secures that physical satisfaction 
which is necessary for the culture of the better part of 
his nature, and enables him to provide for those of his 
own household, without which, says the apostle, a man 
is “ worse than an infidel.” Nor ought the duty to be any 
the less pleasing to us that the respect which our fellow- 
men entertain for us in no slight degree depends upon 
the manner in which we exercise the opportunities 
which present themselves for our honorable advance¬ 
ment in life. The very effort required to be made to 
succeed in life with this object is of itself an education, 
stimulating a man’s sense of self-respect, bringing out 
his practical qualities, and disciplining him in the exer¬ 
cise of patience, perseverance, and such like virtues. 
The provident and careful man must necessarily be a 
thoughtful man, for he lives not merely for the present, 
but with provident forecast makes arrangements for the 
future. He must also be a temperate man, and exer¬ 
cise the virtue of self-denial, than which nothing is so 
much * calculated to give strength to the character. 
John Sterling says truly, that “the worst education 
which teaches self-denial, is better than the best which 
teaches everything else, and not that.” 


376 


Self-denial. 


Hence the lesson of self-denial—the sacrificing of a 
present gratification for a future good—is one of the 
last that is learned. Those classes which work the 
hardest might naturally be expected to value the most 
the money which they earn. Yet the readiness with 
which so many are accustomed to eat up and drink up 
their earnings as they go, renders them to a great ex¬ 
tent helpless and dependent upon the frugal. There are 
large numbers of persons among us who, though enjoy¬ 
ing sufficient means of comfort and independence, are 
often found to be barely a day’s march ahead of ac¬ 
tual want when a time of pressure occurs; and hence a 
great cause of social helplessness and suffering. On one 
occasion a deputation waited on Lord John Russell, re¬ 
specting the taxation levied on the working classes of 
the country, when the noble lord took the opportunity 
of remarking, “ You may rely upon it that the Govern¬ 
ment of this country durst not tax the working classes 
to anything like the extent to which they tax themselves 
in their expenditure upon intoxicating drinks alone!” 
“Providence, frugality, and good management,” said 
Samuel Drew, the philosophical shoemaker, “ are excel¬ 
lent artists for mending bad times: they occupy but 
little room in any dwelling, but would furnish a more 
effectual remedy for the evils of life than any Reform 
Bill that ever passed the Houses of Parliament.” Soc¬ 
rates said, “Let him that would move the world move 
first himself.” 

Any class of men that lives from hand to mouth will 
ever be an inferior class. They will necessarily re¬ 
main impotent and helpless, hanging on to the skirts of 


377 


The Use of Money. 

society, the sport of times and seasons. Having no re¬ 
spect for themselves, they will fail in securing the re¬ 
spect of others. In commercial crisis, such men must 
inevitably go to the wall. Wanting that husbanded 
power with a store of savings, no matter how small, 
invariably gives them, they will be at every man’s 
mercy, and, if possessed of right feelings, they can not 
but regard with fear and trembling the future possible 
fate of their wives and children. “ The world,” said 
Mr. Cobden, u has always been divided into two classes 
—those who have saved, and those who have spent— 
the thrifty and the extravagant. The building of all 
the houses, the mills, the bridges, and the ships, and 
the accomplishment of all other great works which 
have rendered man civilized and happy, has been done 
by the savers, the thrifty; and those who have wasted 
their resources have always been their slaves. It has 
been the law of nature and of Providence that this 
should be so; and I were an impostor if I promised any 
class that they would advance themselves if they were 
improvident, thoughtless and idle.” 

Equally sound was the advice given by Mr. Bright 
to an assembly of working men, when, after expressing 
his belief that, “ so far as honesty was concerned, it was 
to be found in pretty equal amount among all classes,” 
he used the following words: u There is only one way 
that is safe for any man, or any number of men, by 
which they can maintain their present position if it be 
a good one, or raise themselves above it if it be a bad 
one—that is, by the practice of the virtues of industry, 
frugality, temperance, and honesty. There is no royal 


378 Money—Its Use and Abuse . 

road by which men can raise themselves from a position 
which they feel to be uncomfortable and unsatisfactory, 
as regards their mental or physical condition, except 
by the practice of those virtues by which they find 
numbers amongst them are continually advancing and 
bettering themselves. There is no reason why the con¬ 
dition of the average workman should not be a useful, 
honorable, respectable, and happy one. The whole 
body of the working classes might be as frugal, virtu¬ 
ous, well-informed, and well-conditioned as many indi¬ 
viduals of the same class have already made themselves. 
What some men are, all without difficulty, might be. 
Employ the same means, and the same results will fol¬ 
low. The healthy spirit of self-help created amongst 
working people would more than any other measure 
serve to raise them as a class, and this, not by pulling 
down others, but by leveling them up to a higher and 
still advancing standard of religion, intelligence, and 
virtue. “ All moral philosophy,” says Montaigne, “ is 
as applicable to a common and private life as to the 
most splendid. Every man carries the entire form of 
the human condition with him.’ 

When a man casts his glance forward, he will find 
that the three chief temporal contingencies for which 
he has to provide are want of employment, sickness, 
and death. The two first he may escape, but the last 
is inevitable. It is, however, the duty of the prudent 
man so to live, and so to arrange, that the pressure of 
suffering, in the event of either contingency occurring, 
shall be mitigated to as great an extent as possible, not 
only to himself, but also to those who are dependent 


Money—Its Use and Abase . 379 

upon him for their comfort and subsistence. Viewed 
in this light, the honest earning and the frugal use of 
money are of the greatest importance. Rightly earned, 
it is the representative of patient industry and untiring- 
effort, of temptation resisted and hope rewarded; and 
rightly used, it affords indications of prudence, fore¬ 
thought, and self-denial—the true basis of manly char¬ 
acter. Though money represents a crowd of objects 
without any real worth or utility, it also represents 
many things of great value; not only food, clothing, 
and household satisfaction, but personal self-respect and 
independence. Thus a store of savings is to the work¬ 
ing man as a barricade against want; it secures him a 
footing, and enables him to wait, it may be in cheerful¬ 
ness and hope, until better days come round. The very 
endeavor to gain a firmer position in the world has a 
certain dignity in it, and tends to make a man stronger 
and better. At all events, it gives him greater freedom 
of action, and enables him to husband his strength for 
future effort. But the man who is always hovering on 
the verge of want is in a state not far removed from that 
of slavery. He is in no sense his own master, but is in 
constant peril of falling under the bondage of others, 
and accepting the terms which they dictate to him. 
He can not help being in a measure servile, for he dares 
not look the world boldly in the face; and in adverse 
times he must look either to alms or the poor’s rates. 
If work fails him altogether, he has not the means of 
moving to another field of employment 

To secure independence, the practice ot simple econ¬ 
omy is all that is necessary. Economy requires neither 


380 Necessity of Economy. 

superior courage nor eminent virtue; it is satisfied with 
ordinary energy, and the capacity of average minds. 
Economy, at bottom, is but the spirit of order applied 
in the administration of domestic affairs , 4 it means man¬ 
agement, regularity, prudence, and the avoidance of 
waste. Francis Horner's father gave him this advice 
on entering life: “Whilst I wish you to be comfort¬ 
able in every respect, I can not too strongly inculcate 
economy. It is a necessary virtue to all; and however 
the shallow part of mankind may despise it, it certain¬ 
ly leads to independence, which is a grand object to 
every man of a high spirit.” 

It was a maxim of Lord Bacon, that when it was 
necessary to economize, it was better to look after petty 
savings than to descend to petty gettings. The loose 
cash which many persons throw away uselessly, and 
worse, would often form a basis of fortune and inde¬ 
pendence for life. These wasters are their own worst 
enemies, though generally found amongst the ranks of 
those who rail at the injustice of “ the world.” But if 
a man will not be his own friend, how can he expect 
that others will? Orderly men of moderate means 
have always something left in their pockets to help 
others; whereas your prodigal and careless fellows 
who spend all never find an opportunity for helping 
any body. It is poor economy, however, to be a scrub. 
Narrow-mindedness in living and in dealing is gener¬ 
ally short-sighted, and leads to failure. The penny 
soul, it is said never came to twopence. Generosity 
and liberality, like honesty, prove the best policy after 
all. 


381 


Danger of Borrowing. 

The proverb says that “ an empty bag can not stand 
upright; ” neither can a man who is in debt. It is also 
difficult for a man who is in debt to be truthful; hence 
it is said that lying rides on debt’s back. The debtor 
has to frame excuses to his creditor for postponing pay¬ 
ment of the money he owes him, and probably also to 
contrive falsehoods. It is easy enough for a man who 
will exercise a healthy resolution, to avoid incurring 
the first obligation; but the facility with which that 
has been incurred often becomes a temptation to a 
second; and very soon the unfortunate borrower be¬ 
comes so entangled that no late exertion of industry 
can set him free. The first step in debt is like the first 
step in falsehoods; almost involving the necessity of 
proceeding in the same course, debt following debt, as 
lie follows lie. Haydon, the painter, dated his decline 
from the day on which he first borrowed money. He 
realized the truth of the proverb, “ Who goes a-bor- 
rowing, goes a-sorrowing.” The significant entry in 
his diary is, “ Here began debt and obligation, out of 
which I have never been and never shall be extricated 
as long as I live.” His autobiography shows but too 
painfully how embarrassment in money matters pro¬ 
duces poignant distress of mind, utter incapacity for 
vtork, and constantly recurring humiliations. The written 
advice which he gave to a youth when entering the navy 
was as follows: “ Never purchase any enjoyment if it 
can not be procured without borrowing of others. 
Never borrow money; it is degrading. I do not say 
never lend, but never lend if by lending you render 
yourself unable to pay what you owe; but under any 


362 


Avoid Debt . 


circumstances never borrow.” Fichte, the poor student, 
refused to accept even presents from his still poorer 
parents. 

Dr. Johnson held that early debt is ruin. His words 
on the subject are weighty, and worthy of being held 
in remembrance. “ Do not,” said he, “ accustom your¬ 
self to consider debt only as an inconvenience; you 
will find it a calamity. Poverty takes away so many 
means of doing good, and produces so much inability 
to resist evil, both natural and moral, that it is by all 
virtuous means to be avoided * * * * Let it be 
your first care, then, not to be in any man’s debt. Re¬ 
solve not be poor; whatever you have, spend less. Pov¬ 
erty is a great enemy to human happiness; it certainly 
destroys liberty, and it makes some virtues impractica¬ 
ble and others extremely difficult. Frugality is not 
only the basis of quiet, but of beneficience. No man 
can help others that wants help himself; we must have 
enough before we have to spare.” 

It is the bounden duty of every man to look his 
affairs in the face, and to keep an account of his in¬ 
comings and outgoings in money matters. The exercise 
of a little simple arithmetic in this way will be found of 
great value. Prudence requires that we shall pitch 
our scale of living a degree below our means. But 
this can only be done by carrying out faithfully a plan 
of living by which both ends may be made to meet. 
John Locke strongly advised this course: “ Nothing,” 
said he, “ is likelier to keep a man within compass than 
having constantly before his eyes the state of his affairs 
in a regular course of account.” The Duke of Well- 


383 


Early Struggles of John Jervis. 

ington kept an accurate detailed account of all the 
money received and expended by him. Washington 
was very particular in matters of business detail; and 
it is a remarkable fact, that he did not disdain to scru¬ 
tinize the smallest outgoings of his household—deter¬ 
mined as he was to live honestly within his means— 
even when holding the high office of President of the 
American Union. 

Admiral Jervis has told the story of his early strug¬ 
gles, and, amongst other things, of his determination to 
keep out of debt. “My father had a very large fami¬ 
ly,” said he, “ with limited means. He gave me twenty 
pounds at starting, and that was all he ever gave me. 
After I had been a considerable time at the station I 
drew for twenty more, but the bill came back pro¬ 
tested. I was mortified at this rebuke, and made a 
promise, which I have ever kept, that I would never 
draw another bill without a certainty of its being paid. 
I immediately changed my mode of living, quitted my 
mess, lived alone, and took up the ship’s allowance, 
which I found quite sufficient; washed and mended my 
own clothes; made a pair of trowsers out of the tick¬ 
ing of my bed; and having by these means saved as 
much money as would redeem my honor, I took up my 
bill, and from that time to this I have taken care to 
keep within my means.” Jervis for six years endured 
pinching privation, but preserved his integrity, studied his 
profession with success, and gradually and steadily rose 
by merit and bravery to the highest rank. Middle-class 
people are too apt to live up to their incomes, if not be¬ 
yond them, affecting a degree of “ style ” which is most 


384 


Living too High . 

unhealthy in its effects upon society at large. There is 
an ambition to bring up boys as gentlemen, or rather 
“ genteel ” men, though the result frequently is only to 
make them gents. They acquire a taste for dress, style, 
luxuries, and amusements, which can never form any 
solid foundation for manly or gentlemanly character; 
and the result is that we have a vast number of ginger¬ 
bread young gentry thrown upon the world, who re¬ 
mind one of the abandoned hulls sometimes picked up 
at sea, with only a monkey on board. There is a 
dreadful ambition abroad for being “genteel.” We 
keep up appearances, too often at the expense of hon¬ 
esty; and, though we may not be rich, yet we must 
seem to be so. We must be “respectable,” though 
only in the meanest sense—in mere vulgar outward 
show. We have not the courage to go patiently on¬ 
ward in the condition in life in which it has pleased God 
to call us; but must needs live in some fashionable state 
to which we ridiculously please to call ourselves, and to 
gratify the vanity of that unsubstantial genteel world of 
which we form a part. There is a constant struggle 
and pressure for front seats in the social amphitheatre; 
in the midst of which all noble self-denying resolve is 
trodden down, and many fine natures are inevitably 
crushed to death. What waste, what misery, what 
bankruptcy, come from all this ambition to dazzle 
others with the glare of apparent worldly success, we 
need not describe. The mischievous results show them¬ 
selves in a thousand ways—in the rank frauds commit¬ 
ted by men who dare to be dishonest, but do not dare to 
seem poor. 


Aristides “ The Just A 


385 


There are rogues innumerable, who are ready to sell 
their bodies and souls for money and for drink. Who 
has not heard of the elections which have been made 
void through bribery*and corruption? This is not the 
way to enjoy liberty or to keep it. The men who sell 
themselves are slaves; their buyers are dishonest and 
unprincipled. Freedom has its humbugs. “I’m stand¬ 
ing on the soil of liberty,” said an orator. “You ain’t,” 
replied a boot-maker in the audience. “ You are stand¬ 
ing on a pair of boots you never paid me for.” 

The ignorant and careless are at the mercy of the 
unprincipled; and the ignorant are as yet greatly in the 
majority. When a French quack was taken before the 
Correctional Tribunal at Paris for obstructing the Pont 
Neuf, the magistrate said to him, “Sirrah! how is it 
you draw such crowds about you, and extract so much 
money from them in selling your ‘ infallible’ rubbish?” 
“ My lord,” replied the quack, “ how many people do 
you think cross the Pont Neuf in the hour?” “ I don’t 
know,” said the judge. “ Then I can tell you—about 
ten thousand; and how many of these do you think are 
wise?” “ Oh, perhaps a hundred I ” “ It is too many,” 
said the quack; “but I leave the hundred persons to 
you, and take the nine thousand and nine hundred for 
my customers!” 

Aristides was called “The Just” from his unbending 
integrity. His sense of justice was spotless, and his 
self-denial unimpeachable. He fought at Marathon, at 
Salamis, and commanded at the battle of Platea. 
Though he had borne the highest offices in the state, 
he died poor. Nothing could buy him; nothing could 
25 


386 


Phocioji “ The GoodT 


induce him to swerve from his duty. It is said that the 
Athenians, became more virtuous from contemplating 
his bright example. In the representation of one of 
the tragedies of zEschylus, a sentence was uttered in 
favor of moral goodness, on which the eyes of the audi¬ 
ence turned involuntarily from the actor to Aristides. 

Phocion, the Athenian general, a man of great 
bravery and foresight, was surnamed “The Good.” 
Alexander the Great, when overrunning Greece, en¬ 
deavored to win him from his loyalty. He offered him 
riches, and the choice of four cities in Asia. The 
answer of Phocion bespoke the spotless character of 
the man. “ If Alexander really esteems me,” he said, 
“ let him leave me my honesty.” 

Yet Demosthenes, the eloquent, could be bought. 
When Harpalus, one of Alexander’s chiefs, came to 
Athens, the orators had an eye upon his gold. Demos¬ 
thenes was one of them. What is eloquence without hon¬ 
esty? On his visit to Harpalus, the chief perceived that 
Demosthenes was much pleased with one of the king’s 
beautifully engraved cups. He desired him to take it in 
his hand that he might feel its weight. “ How much might 
it bring?” asked Demosthenes. “It will bring you 
twenty talents,” replied Harpalus. That night the cup 
was sent to Demosthenes, with twenty talents in it. 
The present was not refused. The circumstance led 
to the disgrace of the orator, and he soon after poisoned 
himself. Cicero, on the other hand, refused all pres¬ 
ents from friends, as well as from the enemies of his 
country. Some time after his assassination, Caesar found 
one of his grandsons with a book of Cicero’s in his 


“Vicar of Wakefield .” 


387 


hands. The boy endeavored to hide it, but Csesar 
took it from him. After having run over it, he re¬ 
turned it to the boy, saying, “ My dear child, this was 
an eloquent man, and a lover of his country.” Gold¬ 
smith also was a man who would not be bought. He 
had known the depths of poverty. He had wandered 
over Europe, paying his way with his flute. He had 
slept in barns and under the open sky. He tried act¬ 
ing, ushering, doctoring. He starved amid them all. 
Then he tried authorship, and became a gentleman. 
But he never quite escaped from the clutches of pov¬ 
erty. He described himself as “ in a garret writing for 
bread, and expecting to be dunned for a milk score.” 
One day Johnson received a message from Goldsmith, 
stating that he was in great distress. The Doctor went 
to see him, and found that his landlady had arrested 
him for his rent. The only thing he had to dispose of 
was a packet of manuscript. Johnson took it up, and 
found it to be the “Vicar of Wakefield.” Having 
ascertained its merit, Johnson took it to. a bookseller 
and sold it for sixty pounds. Poor though he was then, 
and poor though he was at the end of his life—for he 
died in debt—Goldsmith could not be bought. He re¬ 
fused to do dirty political work. About $ 250,000 an¬ 
nually was then expended by Sir Robert Walpole in 
secret service money. Daily scribblers were suborned 
to write up the acts of the administration, and to write 
down those of their opponents. In the time of Lord 
North, “Junius ” was in opposition. It was resolved to 
hire Goldsmith to baffle his terrible sarcasm. Dr. 
Scott, chaplain to Lord Sandwich, was deputed to ne- 


388 


Resistance to Temptation . 


gotiate with him. u I found him,” says Dr. Scott, 44 in 
'a miserable suite of chambers in the Temple. I told 
him my authority. I told him how I was empowered 
to pay for his exertions; and, would you believe it?— 
he was so absurd as to say, 4 I can earn as much as will 
supply my wants without writing for any party; the 
assistance you offer is therefore unnecessary to me ; y 
and so I left him in his garret.” 

Nothing is more creditable to American statesman¬ 
ship than the fact that most of our Presidents at death 
have left their families in very moderate circumstances. 
Garfield and Lincoln, whose positions would have ena¬ 
bled them, by accepting gifts and bribes to have accu¬ 
mulated immense wealth, died poor and in debt, al¬ 
though they were rich in the affection of a grateful 
people. The same is true of our most honored states¬ 
men. That bribery and corruption exists in our poli¬ 
tics and often controls legislation cannot be denied. 
But it should also be said, to the great credit of a vigi¬ 
lant popular censorship, tha.t corrupt and venal states¬ 
men, when they become known as such, are promptly 
relegated to private life. 

The young man, as he passes through life, advances 
through a long line of temptors ranged on either side 
of him; and the inevitable effect of yielding is degrada¬ 
tion in a greater or a less degree. Contact with them 
tends insensibly to draw away from him some portion 
of the divine electric element with which his nature is 
charged; and his only mode of resisting them is to ut¬ 
ter and act out his 44 No ” manfully and resolutely. He 
must decide at once, not waiting to deliberate and bal- 


Hugh Miller . 389 

ance reasons: for the youth, like u the woman who de¬ 
liberates, is lost.” Temptation will come to try the 
young man’s strength; and, once yielded to, the power 
to resist grows weaker and weaker. Yield once, and 
a portion of virtue is gone. Resist manfully, and the 
first decision will give strength for life; repeated, it will 
become a habit. It is in the outworks of the habits 
formed in early life that the real strength of the defense 
must lie; for it has been wisely ordained that the ma¬ 
chinery of moral existence should be carried on princi¬ 
pally through the medium of the habits, so as to save 
the wear and tear of the great principles within. It 
is good habits, which insinuate themselves into the 
thousand inconsiderable acts of life, that really con¬ 
stitute by far the greater part of man’s moral con¬ 
duct. 

Hugh Miller has told how, by an act of youthful de¬ 
cision, he saved himself from one of the strong tempta¬ 
tions so peculiar to a life of toil. When employed as a 
mason, it was usual for his fellow-workmen to have an 
occasional treat of drink, and one day two glasses of 
whisky fell to his share, which he swallowed. When 
he reached home he found, on opening his favorite book 
—“ Bacon’s Essays ”—that the letters danced before his 
eyes, and that he could no longer master the sense. 
u The condition,” he says, “ into which I had brought 
myself was, I felt, one of degradation. I had sunk, by 
my own act, for the time, to a lower, level of intelli¬ 
gence than that on which it was my privilege to be 
placed; and, though the state could have been no very 
favorable one for forming a resolution, I in that hour 


390 


Proverbs on Money-making ".. 


determined that I should never again sacrifice my ca¬ 
pacity of intellectual enjoyment to a drinking usage; 
and, with God’s help, I was enabled to hold by the de¬ 
termination.''’ It is such decisions as this that often 
form the turning points in a man’s life, and furnish the 
foundation of his future character. And this rock, on 
which Hugh Miller might have, been wrecked, if he had 
not at the right moment put forth his moral strength to 
strike away from it, is one that youth and manhood alike 
need to be constantly on their guard against. It is 
about one of the worst and most deadly, as well as ex¬ 
travagant temptations which lie in the way of youth. 
Sir Walter Scott used to say that, u of all vices, drink¬ 
ing is the most incompatible with greatness.” Not 
only so, but it is incompatible with economy, decency, 
health and honest living. Dr. Johnson said, referring 
to his own habits, “Sir, I can abstain; but I can’t be 
moderate.” 

Many popular books have been written for the pur¬ 
pose of communicating to the public the grand secret 
of making money. But there is no secret whatever 
about it, as the proverbs of every nation abundantly 
testify. “ Take care of the pennies and the pounds will 
take care of themselves.” “ Diligence is the mother of 
good luck.” “No pains, no gains.” “No sweat, no 
sweet.” “ Work and thou shalt have.” “ The world 
is his who has patience and industry.” “ Better go to 
bed supperless than rise in debt.” Such are specimens 
of the proverbial philosophy, embodying the hoarded 
experience of many generations, as to the best means 
of thriving in the world. They were current in peo- 


Industry Honorable . 


391 


pie’s mouths long before books were invented; and, like 
other popular proverbs, they were the first popular 
morals. Moreover, they have stood the test of time, 
and the experience of every day still bears witness to 
their, accuracy, force, and soundness. The proverbs of 
Solomon are full of wisdom as to the force of industry, 
and the use and abuse of money:—“ He that is sloth¬ 
ful in work is brother to him that is a great waster.” 
“ Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and 
be wise.” Poverty, says the preacher, shall come upon 
the idler, “ as one that traveleth, and want as an armed 
man; ” but of the industrious and upright, “ the hand of 
the diligent maketh rich.” “The drunkard and the 
glutton shall come to poverty; and drowsiness shall 
clothe a man with rags.” “ Seest thou a man diligent 
in his business, he shall stand before kings.” But, 
above all, a It is better to get wisdom than gold; for 
wisdom is better than rubies, and all the things that 
may be desired are not to be compared to it.” 

Simple industry and thrift will go far towards mak¬ 
ing any person of ordinary working faculty compara¬ 
tively independent in his means. Even a working man 
may be so, provided he will carefully husband his re¬ 
sources, and watch the little outlets of useless expendi¬ 
ture. A penny is a very small matter, yet the comfort 
of thousands of families depends upon the proper spend¬ 
ing and saving of pennies. If a man allows the little 
pennies, the results of his hard work, to slip out of his 
fingers—some to the beer shop, some this way and 
some that—he will find that his life is little raised above 
one of mere animal drudgery. On the other hand, if 


392 Philanthropy of Thomas Wright. 

he takes care of the pennies—putting some weekly 
into a saving’s bank, and confiding the rest to his wife 
to be carefully laid out, with a view to the comfortable 
maintenance and education of his family—he will soon 
find that this attention to small matters will abundantly 
repay him, in increasing means, growing comfort at 
home, and a mind comparatively free from fears as to 
the future; And if a working man have high ambition 
and possess richness in spirit—a kind of wealth which 
far transcends all mere worldly possessions—he may 
not only help himself, but be a profitable helper of 
others in his path through life. That this is no impos¬ 
sible thing even for a common laborer in a workshop, 
may be illustrated by the remarkable career of Thomas 
Wright of Manchester, who not only attempted but 
succeeded in the reclamation of many criminals while 
working for weekly wages in a foundry. 

Accident first directed Thomas Wright’s attention 
to the difficulty encountered by liberated convicts in re¬ 
turning to habits of honest industry. His mind was 
shortly possessed by the subject, and to remedy the 
evil became the purpose of his life. Though he worked 
from six in the morning till six at night, still there were 
leisure minutes that he could call his own—more espec¬ 
ially his Sundays—and these he employed in the service 
of convicted criminals; a class then far more neglected 
than they are now. But a few minutes a day, well em¬ 
ployed, can effect a great deal; and it will scarcely be 
credited, that in ten years this working man, by stead¬ 
fastly holding to his purpose, succeeded in rescuing not 
fewer than three hundred felons from continuance in a 


393 


Philanthropy op' Thomas Wright . 

life of villainy! He came to be regarded as the moral 
physician of the Manchester Old Bailey; and where 
the chaplain and all others failed, Thomas Wright often 
succeeded. Children he thus restored reformed to 
their parents; sons and daughters, otherwise lost, to 
their homes; and many a returned convict did he con¬ 
trive to settle down to honest and industrious pursuits. 
The task was by no means easy. It required money, 
time, energy, prudence, and above all, character, and 
the confidence which character invariably inspires. 
The most remarkable circumstance was that Wright 
relieved many of these poor outcasts out of the com¬ 
paratively small wages earned by him at foundry work. 
He did all this on an income which did not average, 
during his working career, $500 per annum; and yet, 
while he was able to bestow substantial aid on crimi¬ 
nals, to whom he owed no more than the service of 
kindness which every human being owes to another, he 
also maintained his family in comfort, and was, by fru¬ 
gality and carefulness, enabled to lay by a store of sav¬ 
ings against his approaching old age. Every week he 
apportioned his income with deliberate care; so 
much for the indispensable necessaries of food and 
clothing, so much for the landlord, so much for 
the schoolmaster, so much for the poor and needy; 
and the lines of distribution were resolutely observed. 
By such means did this humble workman pursue his' 
great work, with the results we have so briefly described. 
Indeed, his career affords one of the most remarkable 
and striking illustrations of the force of purpose in a 
man, of the might of small means carefully and sedu- 


394 


Energy in Money-making. 

lously applied, and, above all, of the power which an 
energetic and upright character invariably exercises 
upon the lives and conduct of others. 

There is no discredit, but honor, in every right walk 
of industry, whether it be in tilling the ground, making 
tools, weaving fabrics, or selling the products behind a 
counter. A youth may handle a yard-stick, or measure 
a piece of ribbon; and there will be no discredit in do¬ 
ing so, unless he allows his mind to have no higher 
range than the stick and ribbon; to be as short as 
the one and as narrow as the other. “ Let not those 
blush who have” said Fuller, “but those who have not 
a lawful calling.” And Bishop Hall said, u Sweet is 
the destiny of all trades, whether of the brow or of the 
mind.” One of our Presidents, when asked what was 
his coat-of-arms, remembering that he had been a hewer 
of wood in his youth, replied, “ a pair of shirt-sleeves.” 

Nothing is more common than energy in money¬ 
making, quite independent of any higher object than 
its accumulation. A man who devotes himself to this 
pursuit, body and soul, can scarcely fail to become rich. 
Very little brains will do: spend less than you earn; 
add guinea to guinea; scrape and save; and the pile 
of gold will gradually rise. John Foster has cited a 
striking illustration of what determination will do in 
money-making. A young man who ran through his 
patrimony, spending it in profligacy, was at length re¬ 
duced to utter want and despair. He rushed out of his 
house intending to put an end to his life, and stopped 
on arriving at an eminence overlooking what were once 
his estates. He sat down ruminated for a time, and 


395 


Mere Money-making 

rose with the determination that he would recover them. 
He returned to the streets, saw a load of coal which 
had been shot out of a cart on to the pavement before 
a house, offered to carry it in, and was employed. 
He thus earned a few pence, requested some meat and 
drink as a gratuity, which was given him, and the pen¬ 
nies were laid by. Pursuing this menial labor, he earned 
and saved more pennies; accumulated sufficient to ena¬ 
ble him to purchase some cattle, the value of which he 
understood, and these he sold to advantage. Pie pro¬ 
ceeded by degrees to undertake larger transactions, 
until at length he became rich. The result was that 
he more than recovered his possessions, and died an 
inveterate miser. When he was buried rxiere earth 
went to earth. With a nobler spirit, the same deter¬ 
mination might have enabled such a man to be a bene¬ 
factor to others as well as to himself. But the life and 
its end in this case were alike sordid. To provide for 
others and for our own comfort and independence in 
old age, is honorable and greatly to be commended; 
but to hoard for mere wealth’s sake is the characteris¬ 
tic of the. narrow-souled and the miserly. It is against 
the growth of this habit of inordinate saving that the 
wise man needs most carefully to guard himself; else, 
what in youth was simple economy, may in old age 
grow into avarice, and what was a duty in the one case, 
may become a vice in the other. It is one of the de¬ 
fects of business too exclusively followed, that it insen¬ 
sibly tends to a mechanism of character. The business 
man gets into a rut, and often does not look beyond it.. 
If he lives for himself only, he becomes apt to regard 


396 


True Respectability. 


other human beings only in so far as they minister to 
his ends. Take a leaf from such a man’s ledger and 
you have his life. 

“Respectability,” in its best sense, is good. The re- 
spectabable man is one worthy of regard, literally 
worth turning to look at. But the respectability that 
consists in merely keeping up appearances is not worth 
looking at in any sense. Far better and more respect¬ 
able is the good poor man than the bad rich one—bet¬ 
ter the humble silent man than the agreeable, well-ap¬ 
pointed rogue who keeps his gig. A well-balanced and 
well-stored mind, a life full of useful purpose, what¬ 
ever the position occupied in it may be, is of far greater 
importance than average worldly respectability. The 
highest object of life we take to be to form a man¬ 
ly character, and to work out the best development 
possible, of body and spirit—of mind, conscience, heart, 
and soul. This is the end: all else ought to be re¬ 
garded but as the means. Accordingly, that is not the 
most successful life in which a man gets the most pleas¬ 
ure, the most money, the most power or place, honor 
or fame; but that in which a man gets the most man¬ 
hood, and performs the greatest amount of useful work 
and of human duty. Money is power after its sort, it 
is true; but intelligence, public spirit, and moral virtue, 
are powers, too, and far nobler ones. When Sir Hum¬ 
phry Davy, after great labor, invented his safety lamp, 
for the purpose of mitigating the dangers to colliers 
working in inflammable gas, he would not take out a 
patent for it, but made it over to the public. . A friend 
said to him, “ You might as well have secured this in- 


Real Men of Mark. 


;i97 

vention by a patent, and received your five or ten thou¬ 
sand a year for it.” “ No, my good friend,” said Davy, 
“ I never thought of such a thing; my sole object was 
to serve the cause of humanity. I have enough for all 
my views and purposes. More wealth might distract 
my attention from my favorite pursuits. More wealth 
could not increase either my fame or my happiness. It 
might undoubtedly enable me to put four horses to my 
carriage; but what would it avail me to have it said 
that Sir Humphry drives his carriage and four? ” 

The making of a fortune may no doubt enable some 
people to “enter society,” as it is called; but, to be es¬ 
teemed there, they must possess qualities of mind, man¬ 
ners, or heart, else they are merely rich people, nothing 
more. There are men in “ society ” now, as rich as 
Croesus, who have no consideration extended towards 
them, and elicit no respect. For why? They are but 
as money-bags: their only power is in their till. The 
men of mark in society—the guides and rulers of opin¬ 
ion—the realty successful and useful men—are not nec¬ 
essarily rich men; but men of sterling character, of dis¬ 
ciplined experience, and of moral excellence. Even 
the poor man, like Thomas Wright, though he possess 
but little of this world’s goods, may, in the enjoyment 
of a cultivated nature, of opportunities used and not 
abused, of a life spent to the best of his means and abil¬ 
ity, look down, without the slightest feeling of envy, 
upon the person of mere worldly success, the man of 
money-bags and acres. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


HABITS OF THRIFT. 

“ We are taxed twice as heavily by our pride as by the state/’—POOR Richard. 

” Economy is of itself a great revenue.”—C icero. 

HRIFT or private economy began with civili¬ 
zation. It began when men found it necessary 
to provide for to-morrow as well as for to-day. 
It began long before money was invented. 
While it is the object of private economy to create and 
promote the well-being of individuals, it is the object 
of political economy to create and increase the wealth 
of nations. Private and public wealth have the same 
origin. Wealth is obtained by labor; it is preserved 
by savings and accumulations; and it is increased by 
diligence and perseverance. It is the savings of indi¬ 
viduals which compose the wealth and the well-being 
of every nation. On the other hand, it is the wasteful¬ 
ness of individuals which occasions the impoverishment 
of states. So that every thrifty person may be re¬ 
garded as a public benefactor, and every thriftless per¬ 
son as a public enemy. 

Prodigality is* much more natural to man than thrift. 
The savage is the greatest of spendthrifts, for he has no 
forethought, no to-morrow. The prehistoric man saved 
nothing. Pie lived in caves, or in hollows of the ground, 






Useful Labors . 


399 


covered with branches. He subsisted on shell-fish which 
he picked up on the sea-shore, or upon fruits which he 
gathered in the woods. He killed animals with stones. 
He lay in wait for them, or ran them down on foot. 
Then he learned to use stones as tools; making stone 
arrow-heads and spear-points, thereby utilizing his la¬ 
bor, and killing birds and animals more quickly. The 
original savage knew nothing of agriculture. It was 
only in comparatively recent times that men gathered 
seeds for food, and saved a portion of them for next 
year’s crop. When minerals were discovered, and fire 
was applied to them, and the minerals became smelted 
into metal, man made an immense stride. He could 
then fabricate hard tools, chisel stone, build houses, and 
proceed by unwearying industry to devise the manifold 
means and agencies of civilization. The dweller by 
the ocean burned a hollow in a lelled tree, launched it, 
went to sea in it, and fished for food. The hollow tree 
became a boat, held together with iron nails. The boat 
became a galley, a ship, a paddle-boat, a screw-steamer, 
and the world was opened up for colinization and civi¬ 
lization. Man would have continued a savage, but for 
the results of the useful labors of those who preceded 
him. The soil was reclaimed by them, and made to 
grow food for human uses. They invented tools and 
fabrics, and we reap the useful results. They discov¬ 
ered art and science, and we succeed to the useful ef¬ 
fects of their labors. 

The history of industry is uniform in the cnaracter 
of its illustrations. Industry enables the poorest man 
to achieve honor, if not distinction. The greatest names 


400 


Thrift and Civilization . 


in the history of art, literature and science, are those 
of laboring men. By the working-man we do not 
mean merely the man that labors with his muscles and 
sinews. A horse can do this. But he is pre-eminently 
the working-man who works with his brain also, and 
whose whole physical system is under the influence of 
his higher faculties. The man who paints a picture, 
who writes a book, who makes a law, who creates a 
poem, is a working-man of the highest order; not so 
necessary to the physical sustainment of the community 
as the plowman or the shepherd, but not less important 
as providing for society its highest intellectual nourish¬ 
ment. 

Having said so much of the importance and the 
necessity of industry, let us see what uses are made of 
the advantages derivable from it. It is clear that man 
would have continued a savage but for the accumula¬ 
tions of savings made by our forefathers—the savings 
of skill, of art, of invention, and of intellectual culture. 
It is the savings of the world that have made the civ¬ 
ilization of the world. Savings are the result of labor; 
and it is only when laborers begin to save that the re¬ 
sults of civilization accumulate. We have said that 
thrift began with civilization; we might almost have 
said that thrift produced civilization. Thrift produces 
capital, and capital is the conserved result of labor. 
The capitalist is merely a man who does not spend 
all that is earned by work. But a large proportion of 
men do not provide for the future. They do not re¬ 
member the past. . They think only of the present 
They preserve nothing. They spend all that they earn. 


Economy and Capital. 401 

They do not provide for themselves; nor for their 
families. They may make high wages, but eat and 
drink the whole of what they earn. Such people are 
constantly poor, and hanging on the verge of destitu¬ 
tion. The men who economize by means of labor be¬ 
come the owners of capital which sets other labor in 
motion. Capital accumulates in their hands, and they 
employ other laborers to work for them. Thus trade 
and commerce begin. The thrifty build houses, ware¬ 
houses, and mills. They fit manufactories with tools 
and machines. They build ships, and send them to 
various parts of the world. They put their capital to¬ 
gether, and build railroads, harbors, and docks. They 
open up mines of coal, iron, and copper; and erect 
pumping-engines to keep them clear of water. They 
employ laborers to work the mines, and thus give rise 
to an immense amount of employment. All this is the 
result of thrift. It is the result of economizing money, 
and employing it for beneficial purposes. The thrift¬ 
less man has no share in the progress of the world. He 
spends all that he gets, and .can give no help to any¬ 
body. No matter how much money he makes, his 
position is not in any respect raised. He husbands none 
of his resources. He is always calling for help. He 
is, in fact, the born slave of the thrifty. Competence 
and comfort lie within the reach of most people, were 
they to take the adequate means to secure and enjoy 
them. Men who are paid good wages might also be¬ 
come capitalists, and take their fair share in the im¬ 
provement and well-being of the world. But it is only 
by the exercise of labor, energy, honesty, and thrift, 
26 


402 Workmen and Capital . 

that they can advance their own position or that of 
their class. 

Society at present suffers far more from waste of 
money than from want of money. It is easier to make 
money than to know how to spend it. It is not what a 
man gets that constitutes his wealth, but his manner of 
spending and economizing. And when a man obtains 
by his labor more than enough for his personal and 
family wants, and can lay by a little store of savings be¬ 
sides, he unquestionably possesses the elements of social 
well-being. The savings may amount to little, but 
they may be sufficient to make him independent. There 
is no reason why the highly paid workman of to-day 
may not save a store of capital. It is merely a matter 
of self-denial and private economy. Indeed, the princi¬ 
pal industrial leaders of to-day consist, for the most 
part, of men who have sprung directly from the ranks. 
Thrift of time is equal to thrift of money. Franklin 
said, “ Time is gold.” If one wishes to earn money, 
it may be done by the proper use of time. But time 
may also be spent in doing many good and noble 
actions. It may be spent in learning, in study, in art, 
in science, in literature. Time can be economized by 
system. System is an arrangement to secure certain 
ends, so that no time may be lost in accomplishing 
them. Every business man must be systematic and 
orderly; so must every housewife. There must be a 
place for every thing, and every thing in its place. 
There must also be a time for every thing, and every 
thing must be done in time. Thrift does not require 
superior courage, superior intellect, nor any superhuman 


Habits of Economy. 403 

virtue. It merely requires common sense, and the 
power of resisting selfish enjoyments. In fact, thrift is 
merely common sense in every-day working action. It 
needs no fervent resolution, but only a little patient self- 
denial. Begin is its device! The more the habit of 
thrift is practiced, the easier it becomes, and the sooner 
it compensates the self-denier for the sacrifices which 
it has imposed. 

The question may be asked: Is it possible for a man 
working for small wages to save anything, and lay it 
by in a savings-bank, when he requires every penny for 
the maintenance of his family? But the fact remains, 
that it is done by many industrious and sober men; 
thaf they do deny themselves, and put thfcir spare earn¬ 
ings into savings-banks, and the other receptacles pro¬ 
vided for poor men’s savings. And if some can do 
this, all may do it under similar circumstances, without 
depriving themselves of any genuine pleasure or any 
real enjoyment. 

How intensely selfish is it for any one in the receipt 
of good pay to spend everything upon himself; or, if he 
has a family, to spend his whole earnings from week to 
week, and lay nothing by. When we hear that a man 
who has been in the receipt of a good salary, has died 
and left nothing behind him—that he has left his wife 
and family destitute—left them to chance—to live or 
perish anywhere—we can not but regard it as the most 
selfish thriftlessness. And yet comparatively little is 
thought of such cases. Perhaps the hat goes round. 
Subscriptions may produce something—perhaps noth¬ 
ing; and the ruined remnants of the unhappy family 
sink into poverty and destitution. 


404 


Uses of Saved Money. 

Money represents a multitude of objects without 
value, or without real utility; but it also represents 
something much more precious, and that is independ¬ 
ence. In this light it is of great moral importance. 
No class ever accomplished anything that lived from 
hand to mouth. People who spend all that they earn 
are ever hanging on the brink of destitution. They 
must necessarily be weak and impotent—the slaves of 
time and circumstance They keep themselves poor. 
They lose self-respect as well as the respect of others. 
It is impossible that they can be free and independent. 
To be thriftless is enough to deprive one of all manly 
spirit and virtue. 

But a man with something saved, no matter now lit¬ 
tle, is in a different position. The little capital he has 
stored up is always a source of power. He is no. lon¬ 
ger the sport of time and fate. He can boldly look the 
world in the face. He is, in a manner, his own master. 
He can dictate his own terms. He can neither be 
bought nor sold. He can look forward with cheerful¬ 
ness to an old age of comfort and happiness. 

What a serious responsibility does the man incur 
who marries! Not many seriously think of this re¬ 
sponsibility. Perhaps this is wisely ordered, for much 
serious thinking might end in the avoidance of married 
life and its responsibilities. But, once married, a man 
ought forthwith to determine that, so far as his own ef¬ 
forts are concerned, want shall never enter his house¬ 
hold ; and that his children shall not, in the event of his 
being removed from the scene of life and labor, be left a 
burden upon society. 


Prosperous Times. 


405 


When economy is looked upon as a thing that must 
be practiced, it will never be felt as a burden; and those 
who have not before observed it, will be astonished to 
find what a few pence or shillings laid aside weekly will 
do toward securing moral elevation, mental culture, and 
personal independence. There is a dignity in every 
attempt to economize. Its very practice is improving. 
It indicates self-denial, and imparts strength to the char¬ 
acter. It produces a well-regulated mind. It fosters 
temperance. It is based on forethought. It makes 
prudence the dominating characteristic. It gives virtue 
the mastery over self-indulgence. Above all, it secures 
comfort, drives away care, and dispels many vexations 
and anxieties which might otherwise prey upon us 
The number of well paid workmen in this country 
has become very large, who might easily save and 
economize, to the improvement of their moral well¬ 
being, of their respectability and independence, and of 
their status in society as men and citizens. They are 
improvident and thriftless to an extent which proves 
not less hurtful to their personal happiness and domestic 
comfort than it is injurious to the society of which they 
form so important a part. In “prosperous times” they 
spend their gains recklessly; and when adverse times 
come they are at once plunged in misery. Money is 
not used, but abused; and, when people should be pro¬ 
viding against old age, or for the wants of a growing 
family, they are, in too many cases, feeding folly, dis¬ 
sipation and vice. Let no one say that this is an exag¬ 
gerated picture. It is enough to look round in any 
neighborhood, and see how much is spent and how lit- 


406 


Poverty and Pauperism . 


tie is saved; what a large proportion of savings goes 
to the beer-shop, and how little to the savings-bank. 

“ Prosperous times ” are very often the least prosper¬ 
ous of all times. There are demands for higher wages; 
and the higher wages, when obtained, are spent as soon 
as earned. Intemperate habits are formed, and, once 
formed, the habit of intemperance continues. In¬ 
creased wages, instead of being saved, are, for the most 
part, spent in drink. Thus, when a population are 
thoughtless and improvident, no kind of material pros¬ 
perity will benefit them. Unless they exercise fore¬ 
thought and economy they will alternately be in a state 
of “ hunger and burst.” When trade falls off, as it does 
after exceptional prosperity, they will not be comforted 
by the thought of what they might have saved, had it 
ever occurred to them that the “ prosperous times ” 
might not have proved permanent. “ Where are all the 
workmen? ” said a master to his foremen, on going the 
rounds among his builders: u this work must be pushed 
on, and covered in while the -fine weather lasts.” 
“ Why, sir,” said the foreman, “ this is Monday, and 
they have not spent all their money yet.” 

The difference in thriftiness between the English 
working people and the inhabitants of Guernsey is thus 
referred to by Mr. Denison: “ The difference between 
poverty and pauperism is brought home to us very 
strongly by what I see here. In England we have peo¬ 
ple faring sumptuously while they are getting good 
wages, and coming on the parish as paupers the mo¬ 
ment those wages are suspended. Here, people are 
never dependent on any support but their own; but 


Self-taxation. 


407 


they live, of their own free will, in a style of frugality 
which a landlord would be hooted at for suggesting 1 to 
his cottagers. We pity Hodge, reduced to bacon and 
greens, and to meat only once a week. The principal 
meal of a Guernsey farmer consists of cabbage and 
pease stewed with a little dripping. This is the daily 
dinner of men who own perhaps three or four cows, a 
pig or two, and poultry. But the produce and flesh of 
these creatures they sell in the market, investing their 
gains in extension of land or stock, or in 1 rent-charges ’ 
on land, certificates of which are readily bought and 
sold in the market.” 

No one can reproach the’American workman with 
want of industry. He works harder and more skill¬ 
fully than the workman of any other country; and he 
might be more comfortable and independent in his cir¬ 
cumstances, were he as prudent as he is laborious. But 
improvidence is unhappily the defect of the class. Even 
the best-paid American workmen, though earning more 
money than the average of professional men, are still 
for the most part poor because of their thoughtlessness. 
In prosperous times they are not accustomed to make 
provision for adverse times; and when a period of so¬ 
cial pressure occurs, they are rarely found more than a 
few weeks ahead of positive want. 

Franklin, with his shrewd common sense, observed: 
u The taxes are indeed very heavy; and if those laid 
on by the Government were the only ones we had to 
pay, we might more easily discharge them; but we 
have many others, and much more grievous to some 
of us. We are taxed quite as much by our idleness, 


408 


Slavery of Drink. 


three times as much by our pride, and four times as 
much by our folly; and from these taxes the commis¬ 
sioners can not ease or deliver us by allowing an abate¬ 
ment.” 

It is difficult to account for tne waste and extrava¬ 
gance of working-people. It must be the hereditary 
remnant of the original savage. It must be a survival. 
The savage feasts and drinks until everything is gone; 
and then he hunts or goes to war. Or it may be the 
survival of slavery in the State. Slavery was one of 
the first of human institutions. The strong man made 
the weak man work for him. The warlike race sub¬ 
dued the less warlike race* and made them their slaves. 
Thus slavery existed from the earliest times. In Greece 
and Rome the fighting was done by freemen, the labor 
by helots and bondsmen. But slavery also existed in 
the family. The wife was the slave of her husband, 
as much as the slave whom he bought in the public 
market. Matters have now become entirely different. 
The workman, no matter'what his trade, is compara¬ 
tively free. The w r orst slavery from which he suffers 
is his passion for drink. In this respect he still resem¬ 
bles the Esquimaux and the North American Indians. 
Would he be really free? Then he must exercise the 
powers of a free, responsible man. He must exercise 
self-control and self-restraint, and sacrifice present per¬ 
sonal gratifications for prospective enjoyments of a 
much higher kind. It is only by self-respect and self- 
control that the position of the workman can be really 
elevated. 

Thrift is the spirit of order applied to domestic man- 


Spirit of Order. 


409 


agement and organization. Its object is to manage 
frugally the resources of the family, to prevent waste, 
and avoid useless expenditure. Thrift is under the in¬ 
fluence of reason and forethought, and never works by 
chance or by fits. It endeavors to make the most and 
the best of every thing. It does not save money for 
saving’s sake. It makes cheerful sacrifices for the 
present benefits of others; or it submits to voluntary 
privation for some future good. 

Mrs. Inchbald, author of the u Simple Story,” was, 
by dint of thrift, able to set apart the half of her small 
income for the benefit of her infirm sister. There 
were thus about two pounds a week for the maintenance 
of each. “ Many times, ” she says, “ during the win¬ 
ter, when I was crying with cold, have I said to my¬ 
self, ‘ Thank God, my dear sister need not leave her 
chamber; she will find her fire ready for her each morn¬ 
ing, for she is now far less able than I am to endure 
privation. ” Mrs. Inchbald’s family were, for the most 
part, very poor; and she felt it right to support them 
during their numerous afflictions. There is one thing 
that may be said of benevolence; that it has never 
ruined any. one, though selfishness and dissipation have 
ruined thousands. The words, “ Waste not, want not,” 
carved in stone over Sir Walter Scott’s kitchen fire¬ 
place at Abbotsford, expresses in a few words the se¬ 
cret of order in the midst of abundance. Order is 
most useful in the management of every thing—of a 
household, of a business, of a manufactory, of an army. 
Its maxim is, “ A place for every thing, and every 
thing in its place.” Order is wealth; for, whoever 


410 Examples of Economy . 

properly regulates the use of his income, almost doubles 
his resources. Disorderly persons are rarely rich, and 
orderly persons are rarely poor. Order is the best 
manager of time; for unless work is properly arranged, 
time is lost; and, once lost, is gone forever. 

Thrift is the spirit of order in human life. It is the 
prime agent in private economy. It preserves the hap¬ 
piness of many a household. And as it is usually wo¬ 
man who regulates the order of the household, it is 
mainly upon her that the well-being of society depends. 
It is therefore all the more necessary that she should 
early be educated in orderly habits. 

Upon an income not exceeding two hundred a year 
the Tenth Earl of Buchan brought up a numerous fam¬ 
ily of children, one of whom afterwards rose to be 
Lord Chancellor of England. It is not the amount of 
income, so much as the good use of it, that marks 
the true man; and, viewed in this light, good sense, 
good taste, and sound mental culture are among the 
best of all economists. The late Dr. Aiton said that 
his father brought a still larger family up on only half 
the income of the Earl of Buchan. The following: ded- 
ication, prefixed to his work on “ Clerical Economics,” 
is worthy of being remembered: “ This work is re¬ 
spectfully dedicated to a father, now in the eighty-third 
year of his age, who, on an income which never ex¬ 
ceeded a hundred pounds yearly, educated, out of a 
family of twelve children, four sons to liberal profes¬ 
sions, and who has often sent his last shilling to each of 
them in their turn, when they were at college.” 

Many men, in order to advance themselves in the 


Distinguished Miners . 411 

world, and to raise themselves in society,have u scorned 
delights and lived laborious days.” They have lived 
humbly and frugally, in order to accomplish greater 
things. They have supported themselves by their 
hand-labor, until they could support themselves by their 
head-labor. When Lord Elcho addressed the East 
Lothian colliers, he named several men who had raised 
themselves from the coal-pit; and, first of all, he re¬ 
ferred to Mr. Macdonald, member for Stafford. u The 
beginning of my acquaintance with Mr. Macdonald,” he 
said, “ was when I was told a miner wanted to see me 
in the lobby of the House of Commons. I went out 
and saw Mr. Macdonald, who gave me a petition from 
his district, which he asked me to present. I entered 
into conversation with him, and was much struck by 
his intelligence. He told me that he had begun life as 
a boy in the pit at Lanarkshire, and that the money he 
saved as a youth in the summer he spent at Glasgow 
University in the winter; and that is where he got 
whatever book-learning or power of writing he pos¬ 
sesses. I say that is an instance that does honor to the 
miners of Scotland. Another instance was that of Dr. 
Hogg, who began as a pitman in this country; worked 
in the morning, attended school in the afternoon; then 
went to the university for four years, and to the Theo¬ 
logical Hall for five years; and afterward, in conse¬ 
quence of his health failing he went abroad, and is now 
engaged as a missionary in Upper Egypt. Or take the 
case of Mr. Elliott, member for North Durham, who 
has represented the miners all the better for having had 
practical knowledge of their work. He began as a 


412 


George Stephenson. 

miner in the pit, and he worked his way up till he has 
in his employment many thousand men. He has risen 
to his great wealth and station from the humblest posi¬ 
tion, as every man who now hears me is capable of do¬ 
ing, to a greater or less degree, if he will only be thrifty 
and industrious.” 

George Stephenson worked his way irom the pit- 
head to the highest position as an engineer. George 
began his life with industry, and when he had saved a 
little money he spent it in getting a little learning. 
What a happy man he was when his wages were in¬ 
creased to twelve shillings a week! He declared upon 
that occasion that he was u a made man for life! ” 
He was not only enabled to maintain himself upon 
his earnings, but to help his poor parents, and to 
pay for his own education. When his skill had in¬ 
creased, and his wages had advanced to a pound a 
week, he immediately began, like a thoughtful, intelli 
gent workman, to lay by his surplus money; and when 
he had saved his first guinea he proudly declared to one 
of his colleagues that he was now a rich man! And 
he was right, for the man who, after satisfying his wants, 
has something to spare, is no longer a poor man. It is 
certain that from that day Stephenson never looked 
back; his advance as a self-improving man was as steady 
as the light of sunrise. A person of large experience has 
indeed stated that he never knew, among working-peo¬ 
ple, a single instance of a man having out of his small 
earnings laid by a pound who had in the end became a 
pauper. 

When Stephenson proposed to erect his first locomo- 


James Watt. 


413 


tive, he had not sufficient means to defray its cost. But 
in the course of his life as a workman he had established a 
character. He was trusted. He was faithful. He 
was a man who could be depended on. Accord¬ 
ingly, when the Earl of Ravensworth was informed 
of Stephenson’s desire to erect a locomotive he at once 
furnished him with the means for enabling him to carry 
his wishes into effect. Watt, also, when inventing the 
condensing steam-engine, maintained himself by making 
and selling mathematical instruments. He made flutes, 
organs, compasses—anything that would maintain him, 
until he had completed his invention. At the same time 
he was perfecting his own education—learning French 
German, mathematics, and the principles of natural 
philosophy. This lasted for many years; and by the 
time Watt developed his steam-engine and discovered 
Mathew Boulton, he had by his own efforts, become 
an accomplished and scientific man. 

These great workers did not feel ashamed of labor¬ 
ing with their hands for a living; but they also felt 
within themselves the power of doing head-work as 
well as hand-work. And while thus laboring with their 
hands, they went on with their inventions, the perfect¬ 
ing of which has proved of so much advantage to the 
world. Hugh Miller furnished, in his own life, an ex¬ 
cellent instance of that practical common sense in the 
business of life which he so strongly recommended to 
others. When he began to write poetry, and felt within 
him the growing powers of a literary man, he dili¬ 
gently continued his labor as a stone-cutter. A man 
who feels he has some good work in him, which study 


414 


Samuel Richardson. 


and labor might yet bring out, is fully justified in deny¬ 
ing himself, and in applying his energies to the culture 
of his intellect. And it is astonishing how much care¬ 
fulness, thrift, the reading of books, and diligent appli¬ 
cation, will help such men onward. Franklin long 
maintained himself by his trade of printing. He was 
a hard-working man—thrifty, frugal, and a great saver 
of time. He worked for character as much as for 
wages; and when it was found that he could be relied 
on, he prospered. At length he was publicly recog¬ 
nized as a great statesman, and as one of the most 
scientific men of his time. Samuel Richardson, while 
writing his novels, stuck to his trade of a book-seller. 
He sold his books in the front shop, while he wrote 
them in the back. He would not give himself up to 
authorship, because he loved his independence. “ You 
know,” he said to his friend Defreval, “ how my busi 
ness engages me. You know by what snatches of time 
I write in order that I may preserve that independence 
which is the comfort of my life. I never sought out 
of myself for patrons. My own industry and God’s 
providence have been my whole reliance. The great 
are not great to me unless they are good. And it is a 
glorious privilege that a middling man enjoys, who has 
preserved his independence, and can occasionally tell 
the world what he thinks of that world, in hopes to 
contribute, by his mite, to mend it.” 

Lough, the English sculptor, is another instance of 
self-denial and hard-work,. When a boy, he was fond 
of drawing. At school he made drawings of horses, 
dogs, cows, and men, for pins; that was his first pay, 


415 


John Lough . 

and he used to go home with his jacket-sleeve stuck 
full of them. He and his brother next made figures in 
clay. Pope’s Homer lay on his father’s window. The 
boys were so delighted with it that they made thous¬ 
ands of models-—one taking the Greeks and the other 
the Trojans. An odd volume of Gibbon gave an 
account of the Coliseum After the family were in bed 
the brothers made a model of the Coliseum, and filled 
it with fighting gladiators. As the boys grew up they 
were sent to their usual outdoor work, following the 
plow, and doing the usual agricultural labor; but still 
adhering to their modelling at leisure hours. At 
Christmas-time Lough was very much in demand. 
Everybody wanted him to make models in pastry for 
Christmas pies—the neighboring farmers especially. 
u It was capital practice,” he afterward said. 

At length Lough went from Newcastle to London, 
to push his way in the world of art. He obtained a 
passage in a collier, the skipper of which he knew. 
When he reached London, he slept on board the collier 
as long as it remained in the Thames. He was so great 
a favorite with the men, that they all urged him to go 
back. He had no friends, no patronage, no money! 
What could he do with everything against him? But, 
having already gone so far, he determined to proceed. 
He would not go back—at least, not yet. The men all 
wept when he took farewell of them. He was alone 
in London, alone under the shadow of St. Paul’s. 

Plis next step was to take a lodging in an obscure 
first floor in Burleigh street, over a green-grocer’s shop; 
and there he began to model his grand statue of “ Milo.” 


416 


Lough's Success . 

He had to take the roof off to let Milo’s head out. 
There Hayden found him, and was delighted with his 
genius. “ I went,” he says “ to young Lough, the 
sculptor, who has just burst out, and has produced 
great effect. His ‘ Milo ’ is really the most extra¬ 
ordinary thing, considering all the circumstances, in 
modern sculpture. It is another proof of the efficacy 
of inherent genius.” That Lough must have been 
poor enough at this time, is evident from the fact that, 
during the execution of his ‘ Milo,’ he did not eat meat 
for three months; and when Peter-Coxe found him out, 
he was tearing up his shirt to make wet rags for his 
figure, to keep the clay moist. He had a bushel and a 
half of coal during the whole winter; and he used to 
lie down by the side of his clay model of the immortal 
figure, damp as it was, and shiver for hours till he fell 
asleep. 



CHAPTER XVII. 


METHODS OF ECONOMY. 

“ The only true secret of assisting the poor is to make them agents in bet¬ 
tering their own condition.”— Archbishop Sumner. 

HE methods of practising economy are very 
simple. Spend less than you earn. That is 
the first rule. A portion should always be set 
apart for the future. The person who spends 
more than he earns is a fool. The civil law regards 
the spendthrift as akin to the lunatic, and frequently 
takes from him the management of his own affairs. 

The next rule is, to pay ready money, and never, 
on any account, to run in debt. The person who runs 
in debt is apt to get cheated; and if he runs in debt to 
any extent, he will himself be apt to get dishonest. 
u Who pays what he owes, enrichesTimself.” 

The next is, never to anticipate uncertain profits by 
expending them before they are secured. The profits 
may never come, and in that case you will have taken 
upon yourself a load of debt which you may i?ever get 
rid of. It will sit upon your shoulders like the old man 
in Sinbad. 

Another method of economy is, to keep a regular ac- 
count of all that you earn and of all that you expend. An 
27 





418 


Prude?it Econojny. 


orderly man will know before hand what he requires, 
and will be provided with the necessary means for ob¬ 
taining it. Thus his domestic budget will be balanced, 
and his expenditure kept within his income. John 
Wesley regularly adopted this course. Although he 
possessed a small income, he always kept his eyes upon 
the state of his affairs. A year before his death, he 
wrote, with a trembling hand, in his Journal of Ex¬ 
penses: “ For more than eighty-six years I have kept 
my accounts exactly. I do not care to continue to do 
so any longer, having the conviction that I economize 
all that I obtain, and give all that I can—that is to say, 
all that I have.” 

It is the duty of all persons to economize their means 
—of the young as well as of the old. The Duke of 
Sully mentions, in his “ Memoirs,” that nothing contri¬ 
buted more to his fortune than the prudent economy 
which he practiced, even in his youth, of always pre¬ 
serving some ready money in hand .for the purpose of 
meeting circumstances of emergency. Is a man mar¬ 
ried? Then the duty of economy is still more binding. 
His wife and children plead to him most eloquently. 
Are they, in the event of his early death, to be left to 
buffet with the world unaided? The hand of charity 
is cold, the gifts of charity are valueless compared with 
the gains of industry and the honest savings of frugal 
labor, which carry with them comforts, without inflict¬ 
ing any wound upon the feelings of the helpless and be¬ 
reaved. Let every man, therefore, who can, endeavor 
to economize and to save; not to hoard, but to nurse 
his little savings, for the sake of promoting the welfare 


419 


A Dignity in Saving . 

and happiness of himself while here, and of others 
when he has departed. 

Th.ere is a dignity in the very effort to save with a 
worthy purpose, even though the attempt should not 
be crowned with eventual success. It produces a well- 
regulated mind; it gives prudence a triumph over ex¬ 
travagance; it gives virtue the mastery over vice; it 
puts the passions under control; it drives away care; it 
secures comfort. Saved money, however little, will 
serve to dry up many a tear—will ward off many sor¬ 
rows and heart-burnings, which otherwise might prey 
upon us. Possessed of a little store of capital, a man 
walks with a lighter step, his heart beats more cheerily. 
When interruption of work or adversity happens, he 
can meet it; he can recline on his capital, which will 
either break his fall or prevent it altogether. By pru¬ 
dential economy, we can realize the dignity of man; 
life will be a blessing, and old age an honor. We can 
ultimately, under a kind Providence, surrender life, 
conscious that we have been no burden upon society, 
but rather, perhaps, an acquisition and ornament to it; 
conscious, also, that, as we have been independent, our 
children after us, by following our example and avail¬ 
ing themselves of the means we have left behind us, 
will walk in like manner through the world in happi¬ 
ness and independence- 

Every man’s first duty is, to improve, to educate, 
and elevate himself, helping forward his brethren at the 
same time by all reasonable methods. Each has within 
himself the capability of free will and free action to a 
large extent; and the fact is proved by the multitude 


420 


Self-improvement. 


of men who have successfully battled with and over¬ 
come the 'adverse circumstances of life in which they 
have been placed; and who have risen from the lowest 
depths of poverty and social debasement, as if to prove 
what energetic man, resolute of purpose, can do for 
his own elevation, progress, and advancement in the 
world. Is it not a fact that the greatness of humanity, 
the glory of communities, the power of nations, are 
the result of trials and difficulties encountered and over¬ 
come ? 

Let a man resolve and determine that he will ad¬ 
vance, and the first step of advancement is already 
made. The first step is half the battle. In the very 
fact of advancing himself, he is in the most effectual 
possible way advancing others. He is giving them the 
most eloquent of all lessons—that of example; which 
teaches far more emphatically than words can teach. 
He is doing what others are by imitation incited to do. 
Beginning with himself, he is in the most emphatic 
manner teaching the duty of self reform and of self-im¬ 
provement; and if the majority of men acted as he did, 
how much wiser, how much happier, how much more 
prosperous, as a whole, would society become! For, 
society being made up of units, will be happy and pros¬ 
perous, or the reverse, exactly in the same, degree as 
the respective individuals who compose it. 

Complaints about the inequality of conditions are as 
old as the world. In the “ Economy ” of Xenophon, 
Socrates asks, “ How is it that some men live in abun¬ 
dance, and have something to spare, while others can 
scarely obtain the necessaries of life, and at the same 


Lack of Tact. 


421 


time run into debt?’ 1 u The reason is,” replied Iso- 
machus, “ because the former occupy themselves with 
their business, while the latter neglect it.” 

The difference between men consists, for the most 
part, in intelligence, conduct, and energy. The best 
character never works by chance, but is under the influ- 
ance of virtue, prudence and forethought. 

There are, of course many failures in the world. 
The man who looks to others for help, instead of rely¬ 
ing on himself, will fail. The man who is undergoing 
the process of perpetual waste will fail. The miser, the 
extravagant, the thriftless, will necessarily fail. In¬ 
deed, most people fail because they do not deserve to 
succeed. They set about their work in the wrong way, 
and no amount of experience seems to improve them. 
There is not so much in luck as some people profess to 
believe. Luck is only another word for good manage¬ 
ment in practical affairs. Richelieu used to say that 
he would not continue to employ an unlucky man—in 
other words, a man wanting in practical qualities, and 
unable to profit by experience; for failures in the past 
are very often the auguries of failures in the future. 

Some of the best and ablest of men are wanting in 
tact. They will neither make allowance for circum¬ 
stances, nor adapt themselves to circumstances; they 
will insist on trying to drive the wedge the broad end 
foremost. They raise walls only to run their own heads 
against. They make such great preparations, and use 
such great precautions, that they defeat their own ob¬ 
ject—like the Dutchman mentioned by Washington Irv¬ 
ing, who having to leap a ditch, went so far back to have 


422 


The Price of Success . 


a good run at it, that when he came up he was com¬ 
pletely winded, and had to sit down on the wrong side 
to recover his breath. 

No idle or thriftless man ever became great. It is 
among those who never lost a moment that we find the 
men who have moved and advanced the world—by 
their learning, their science, or their inventions. Labor 
of some sort is one of the conditions of existence. The 
thought has come down to us from pagan times that 
“ labor is the price which the gods have set upon all 
that is excellent.” The thought is also worthy of 
Christian times. 

Most men have it in their power, by prudent arrange¬ 
ments, to defend themselves against adversity, and to 
throw up a barrier against destitution. They can do 
this by their own individual efforts, or by acting on 
the principle of co-operation, which is capable of an al¬ 
most indefinite extension. People of the most humble 
condition, by combining their means and associating 
together, are enabled in many ways to defend them¬ 
selves against the pressure of poverty, to promote their 
physical well being, and even to advance the progress 
of the nation 

A solitary individual may be able to do very little 
to advance and improve society; but when he combines 
with his fellows for the purpose, he can do a very great 
deal. Civilization itself is but the effect of combining. 
Mr. Mill has said that “ almost all the advantages which 
man possesses over the inferior animals arise from his 
power of acting in combination with his fellows, and of 
accomplishing, by the united efforts of numbers, what 


Principle of Association . 423 

could not be accomplished by the detached efforts of 
individuals.” The secret of social development is to be 
found in co-operation; and the great question of im 
proved economical and social life can only receive a 
satisfactory solution through its means. To effect good 
on a large scale men must combine their efforts; and 
the best social system is that in which the organization 
for the common good is rendered the most complete in 
all respects. 

The middle classes have accomplished more by the 
principle of co-operation than the classes who have so 
much greater need of it. All the joint-stock companies are 
the result of association. The railways, the tele¬ 
graphs, the banks, the mines, the manufactories, have 
for the most part, been established and are carried on 
by means of the savings of the middle classes. 

The working-classes have only begun to employ 
the same principle. Yet how much might they ac 
complish by this means! They might co-operate in 
saving as well as in producing. They might, by put 
ting their saved earnings together, become, by combina 
tion, their own masters. Within a few years past many 
millions sterling have been expended in strikes for 
wages. Five hundred million dollars a year are thrown 
away upon drink and other unnecessary articles. Here 
is an enormous capital. Men who expend or waste such 
an amount can easily become capitalists. It requires 
only will, energy, and self-denial. So much money 
spent on buildings, plant, and steam-engines would ena¬ 
ble them to manufacture for themselves, instead of for 
the benefit of individual capitalists. The steam-engine 


424 Savings of Capital. 

is impartial in its services. It is no respector of persons; 
it will work for the benefit of the laborer as well as for 
the benefit of the millionaire. It will work best for 
those who make the best use of it, and who have the 
greatest knowledge of its powers. 

The greater number of workmen possess little capi¬ 
tal save their labor; and, as we have already seen, many 
of them uselessly and wastefully spend most of their 
earnings, instead of saving them and becoming capital¬ 
ists. By combining in large numbers for the purposes 
of economical working, they might easily become capi¬ 
talists, and operate upon a large scale. As society is 
now constituted, every man is not only justified, but 
bound in duty as a citizen, to accumulate his earnings 
by all fair and honorable methods, with the view of se¬ 
curing a position of ultimate competence and independ¬ 
ence. We do not say that men should save and hoard 
their gains for the mere sake of saving and hoarding; 
that would be parsimony and avarice. But we do say 
that all men ought to aim at accumulating a suffi¬ 
ciency—enough to maintain them in comfort during the 
helpless years that are to come; to maintain them in 
time of sickness and of sorrow, and in old age, which, 
if it does come, ought to find them with a little store 
of capital in hand, sufficient to secure them from depend¬ 
ence upon the charity of others. 

Workmen are for the most part disposed to associate; 
but the association is not always of a healthy kind. It 
sometimes takes the form of unions against masters; 
and displays itself in the strikes that are so common, 
and usually so unfortunate. Workmen also strike 


Money Thrown Away . 


425 


against men of their own class, for the purpose of 
excluding them from their special calling. One of the 
principal objects of trades-unions is to keep up wages 
at the expense of the lower-paid and unassociated work¬ 
ing people. They endeavor to prevent poorer men 
learning their trade, and thus keep the supply of labor 
below the demand. This system may last for a time, 
but it becomes ruinous in the end. 

It is not the want of money that prevents skilled 
workmen from becoming capitalists, and opening the 
door for the employment of laboring men who are 
poorer and less skilled than themselves. The working 
people threw away two and a half millions of dollars 
during the Preston strike, after which they went back 
to work at the old terms. The London building trades 
threw away over one and a half million dollars during 
theiv strike; and even had they obtained the terms for 
which they struck, it would have taken six years to 
make up for their loss. The colliers in the Forest of 
Dean went back to work at the old terms after eleven 
weeks 1 play, at the loss of $250,000. The iron-workers 
of Northumberland and Durhan, after spending a third 
of a year in idleness, and losing one million dollars in 
wages, went back to work at a reduction of ten per 
cent. The colliers and iron-workers of South Wales, 
during the recent strike, were idle for four months, and. 
according to Lord Aberdare, lost, in wages alone, not 
less than fifteen million dollars. 

Here, then, is abundance of money within the power 
of working men—money which they might utilize, but 
do not. Think only of a solitary million, out of the 


426 


Industrial Societies . 


fifteen million dollars which they threw away during 
the coal strike, being devoted to the starting of collier¬ 
ies, or iron-mills, or manufactories, to be worked by co¬ 
operative production for the benefit of the operatives 
themselves. u With frugal habits,” says Mr. Greg, “the 
well-conditioned workman might in ten years easily 
have five hundred pounds in the bank; and, combining 
his savings with twenty other men similarly disposed, 
they might have fifty thousand dollars for the purpose 
of starting any manufacture in which they are adepts. 
The annual expenditure of the working-classes alone, 
on drink and tobacco, is not less than $300,000,000. 
Every year, therefore, the working-classes have it in 
their power to become capitalists ( simply by saving 
wasteful and pernicious expenditure) to an extent 
which would enable them to start at least five hundred 
cotton-mills, or coal-mines, or iron-works, on their own 
account , or to purchase at least 500,000 acres, and so 
set up 50,000 families each with a nice little estate of 
their own of ten acres, on fee simple. No one can 
dispute the facts. No one can deny the inference.” 

That this is not an impracticable scheme is capable 
of being easily proved. The practice of co-operation 
has long been adopted by working people throughout 
England. A large proportion of the fishery industry 
has been conducted on that principle for hundreds of 
years. Fishermen join in building, rigging, and man¬ 
ning a boat; the proceeds of the fish they catch at sea 
is divided among them—so much to the boat, so much 
to the fishermen. The company of oyster-dredgers of 
Whitstable “ has existed time out of mind,” though it 


Successful Co-operation. 


427 


was only in 1793 that they were incorporated by act 
of Parliament. The tin-miners of Cornwall have also 
acted on the same principle. They have mined, washed, 
and sold the tin, dividing the proceeds among them¬ 
selves in certain proportions—most probably from the 
time that the Phoenicians carried away the produce to 
their ports in the Mediterranean. 

In our own time co-operation has been practiced to 
a considerable extent. In 1795, the Hull Anti-Mill In¬ 
dustrial Society was founded. The reasons for its as¬ 
sociation are explained in the petition addressed to the 
mayor and aldermen of Hull by the first members of 
the society. The petition begins thus: “We, the poor 
inhabitants of the said town, have lately experienced 
much trouble and sorrow in ourselves and families, on 
the occasion of the exorbitant price of flour; and though 
the price is much reduced at present, yet we judge it 
needful to take every precaution to preserve ourselves 
from the invasions of covetous and merciless men in 
the future.” They accordingly entered into a subscrip¬ 
tion to build a mill, in order to supply themselves with 
flour. The corporation granted their petition, and sup¬ 
ported them by liberal donations. The mill was built, 
and exists to this day. It now consists of more than 
four thousand members, each holding a share of twenty- 
five shillings. The members belong principally to the 
laboring-classes. The millers endeavored by action at 
law to put down the society, but the attempt was suc¬ 
cessfully resisted. The society manufactures flour, and 
sells it to the members at market price, dividing the 
profits annually among the share-holders, according to 


428 


Equitable Pioneers. 


the quantity consumed in each member’s family. The 
society has proved eminently remunerative. 

Many years passed before the example of the “ poor 
inhabitants ” of Hull was followed. It was only in 
1847 that the co-operators of Leeds purchased a flour 
mill, and in 1850 that those of Rochdale did the same; 
since which time they have manufactured flour for the 
benefit of their members. The corn-millers of Leeds 
attempted to undersell the Leeds Industrial Society. 
They soon failed, and the price of flour was perma¬ 
nently reduced. The Leeds mill does business amount¬ 
ing to more than half a million dollars yearly; its capi¬ 
tal amounts to $110,000; and it paid more than eight 
thousand pounds of profits and bonuses to its three 
thousand six hundred members in 1866, besides supply¬ 
ing them with flour of the best quality. The Rochdale 
District Co-operative Corn-mill Society has also been 
eminently successful. It supplies flour to consumers re¬ 
siding within a radius of about fifteen miles around 
Rochdale. It also supplies flour to sixty-two co-opera¬ 
tive societies, numbering over twelve thousand mem¬ 
bers. Its business in 1866 amounted to $1,120,000, and 
its profits to over $90,000. 

The Rochdale Corn-mill grew out of the Rochdale 
Equitable Pioneers’ Society, which formed an epoch in 
the history of industrial co-operative institutions. The 
Equitable Pioneers’ Society was established in the year 
1844, at a time when trade was in a very bad condi¬ 
tion, and working-people generally were heartless and 
hopeless as to their future state. Some twenty-eight or 
thirty men, mostly flannel-weavers, met and formed 


Fruits of Co-operation . 


429 


themselves into a society for the purpose of economizing 
their hard-won earnings. It is pretty well known that 
working-men generally pay at least ten per cent, more 
for the articles they consume than they need to do un¬ 
der a sounder system. Professor Fawcett estimates 
their loss at nearer twenty per cent, than ten per cent. 
At all events, these working-men wished to save this 
amount of profit, which before went into the pockets of 
the distributors of the necessaries—in other words, into 
the pockets of the shop-keepers. The weekly subscription 
was twopence each; and when about fifty-two calls of 
twopence each had been made, they found that they 
were able to buy a sack of oatmeal, which they dis¬ 
tributed at cost price among the members of the so¬ 
ciety. The number of members grew, and the sub¬ 
scription so increased that the society was enabled to 
buy tea, sugar, and other articles, and distribute them 
among the members at cost price. They superseded 
the shop-keepers, and became their own tradesmen. 
They insisted from the first on payments in cash. No 
credit was given. The society grew. It established a 
store for the sale of food, firing, clothes and other neces¬ 
saries. In a few years the members set on foot the 
Co-operative Corn-mill. They increased the capital by 
the issue of one pound shares and began to make and 
sell clothes and shoes. They also sold drapery. But 
the principal trade consisted in the purchase and sale 
of provisions—butchers’ meat, groceries, flour, and such 
like. Notwithstanding the great distress during the 
period of the cotton famine, the society continued to 
prosper. From the first, it set apart a portion of its 


430 News and Reading Rooms. 

funds for educational purposes, and established a news¬ 
room and a library, which now contains over six thous¬ 
and volumes. The society continued to increase until 
it possessed eleven branches for the sale of goods and 
stores in or near Rochdale, besides the original office 
in Toad Lane. At the end. of 1866, it had six thous¬ 
and two hundred and forty-six members, and a capital 
of $499,540. Its income for goods sold and cash re¬ 
ceived during the }'ear was $1,245,610, and the gross 
profit $159,655. 

But this was not all. Two and a half per cent, were 
appropriated from the net profits to support the news¬ 
rooms and library; and there are now eleven news and 
reading rooms at different places in or hear the town 
where the society carries on its business; the sum de¬ 
voted to this object amounting to over seven hundred 
pounds per annum. The members play at chess and 
draughts, and use the steroscopic views, microscopes, 
and telescopes placed in the libraries. No special ar¬ 
rangements have been made to promote temperance; 
but the news-room and library exercise a powerful and 
beneficial influence in promoting sobriety. It has been 
said that the society has done more to remove drunk¬ 
enness from Rochdale than all that the advocates of 
temperance, have been able to effect. 

The example of the Rochdale Pioneers has exercised 
a powerful influence on working-men throughout the 
northern counties of England. There is scarcely a town 
or village but has a co-operative institution of one kind 
or another. These societies have promoted habits of 
saving, of thrift, and of temperance. They have given 


431 


Dar'wen Co-operatives . 

the people an interest in money matters and enabled 
them to lay out their earnings to the best advantage. 
They have also given the working-people some knowl¬ 
edge of business; for the whole of their concerns are 
managed by committees selected at the general meet¬ 
ings of the members. 

One of the most flourishing co-operative societies is 
that established at Over Darwen. The society has 
erected a row of handsome buildings in the centre of 
the town. The shops for the sale of provisions, groce¬ 
ries, clothing, and other necessaries occupy the lower 
story. Over the shops are the library, reading-rooms, 
and class-rooms, which are open to the members and 
their families. The third story consists of a large pub¬ 
lic hall, which is used for lectures, concerts, and dances. 
There are six branches of the society established in 
different parts of the town. A large amount of busi 
ness is done, and the profits are very considerable. These 
are divided among the members, in proportion to the 
purchases made by them. The profits are for the most 
part re-invested in joint-stock paper-mills, cotton-mills, 
and collieries, in the neighborhood of Darwen. One 
of the most praiseworthy features of the society is the 
provision made for the free education of the members 
and their families. Two and a half per cent, of the 
profits are appropriated for the purpose. While in¬ 
specting the institution a few months ago, we were in¬ 
formed that the science classes were so efficiently con¬ 
ducted that one of the pupils had just obtained a Gov¬ 
ernment scholarship of fifty pounds a year, for three 
years, including free instruction at a School of Mines, 


432 Co-operation—Secret of its Success. 

with a free use of the laboratories during that period. 
There are also two other co-operative institutions in 
the same place; and we were informed that the work¬ 
ing-people of Darwen are, for the most part, hard-work¬ 
ing, sober, and thrifty. 

The sole secret of its success consists in “ready 
money.” It gives no credit. Everything is done for 
cash, the profit of the trade being divided among the 
members. Every business man knows that cash pay¬ 
ment is the soundest method of conducting business; 
the Rochdale Pioneers having discovered the secret, 
have spread it among their class. In their “ advice to 
members of this and other societies,” they say: “ Look 
well after money matters. Buy your goods as much 
as possible in the first markets; or, if you have the 
produce of your industry to sell, contrive, if possible, 
to sell it in the last. Never depart from the principle 
of buying and selling for ready money. Beware of 
long reckonings.” In short, the co-operative societies 
became tradesmen on a large scale; and, besides the 
pureness of the food sold, their profit consisted in the 
discount for cash payments, which was divided among 
the members. 

Land and building societies constitute another form 
of co-operation. By their means portions of land are 
bought, and dwelling houses are built. By means of a 
building society, a person who desires to possess a house 
enters the society as a member, and, instead of paying 
his rent to the landlord, pays his subscriptions and 
interest to a committee of his friends; and in course of 
time, when his subscriptions are paid up, the house is 


Thrift Conservative . 


433 


purchased, and conveyed to him by the society. The 
building society is thus a savings bank, where money 
accumulates for a certain purpose. But even those who 
.do not purchase a house receive a dividend and bonus 
on their shares, which sometimes amount to a consid¬ 
erable sum. 

The accumulation of property has the effect which 
it always has upon thrifty men; it makes them steady, 
sober, and diligent. It weans them from revolutionary 
notions, and makes them conservative. When work¬ 
men, by their industry and frugality, have secured their 
own independence, they will cease to regard the sight 
of others’ well-being as a wrong inflicted on themselves; 
and it will no longer be possible to make political capi¬ 
tal out of their imaginary woes. 

It is said that there is a skeleton in every household. 
The skeleton is locked up—put away in a cupboard— 
and rarely seen. Only the people inside the house 
know of its existence. But the skeleton, nevertheless, 
cannot long be concealed. It comes to light in some 
way or another. The most common skeleton is poverty. 
Poverty, says Douglas Jerrold, is the great secret, kept 
at any pains by one-half the world from the other half. 
When there is nothing laid by—nothing saved to re¬ 
lieve sickness when it comes—nothing to alleviate the 
wants of old age—then is the skeleton hidden away in 
many a cupboard. 

In a country such as this, where business is often 
brought to a stand-still by overtrading and overspecu¬ 
lation, many masters, clerks, and work-people are 
thrown out of employment. They must wait until 
28 


434 


Uses of Saved Money . 


better times come round. But in the meantime how 
are they to live? If they have accumulated r>o sav¬ 
ings, and have nothing laid by, they are comparatively 
destitute. 

It often happens that workmen lose their employ¬ 
ment in “ bad times.” Mercantile concerns become 
bankrupt, clerks are paid off, and servants are dismissed 
when their masters can no longer employ them. If the 
disemployed people have been in the habit of regularly 
comsuming all their salaries and wages, without laying 
anything by, their case is the most pitiable that can be 
imagined. But if they have saved something, at home 
or in the savings-bank, they will be enabled to break 
their fall. They will obtain some breathing time be¬ 
fore they again fall into employment. Suppose they 
have as much as fifty dollars saved. It may seem a 
very little sum, yet in distress it amounts to much. It 
may even prove a man's passport to future independ¬ 
ence. 

We do not value money for its own sake, and we 
should be the last to encourage a miserly desire to 
hoard among any class; but we cannot help recogniz¬ 
ing in money the means of life, the means of comfort, 
the means of maintaining an honest independence. We 
would, therefore, recommend every young man and 
every young woman to begin life by learning to save; 
to lay up for the future a certain portion of every 
week’s earnings, be it little or much; to avoid consum¬ 
ing every week or every year the earnings of that 
week or year; and we counsel them to do this, as they 
would avoid the horrors of dependence, destitution, or 


Depositors in Savings Banks. 435 

beggary. We would have men and women of every 
class able to help themselves—relying upon their own 
resources—upon their own savings; for it is a true say¬ 
ing that u a penny in the purse is better than a friend 
at court.” The first penny saved is a step in the world. 
The fact of its being saved and laid by indicates self- 
denial, forethought, prudence, wisdom. It may be the 
germ of future happiness. It may be the beginning of 
independence. 

It is not the highly paid class of working men and 
women who invest money in the savings-banks, but 
those who earn comparatively moderate incomes. Thus 
the most numerous class of depositors in the Manches¬ 
ter and Salford Savings-bank is that of domestic serv¬ 
ants. After them rank clerks, shop-men, porters and 
miners. Only about a third part of the deposits be¬ 
longs to the operatives, artisans and mechanics. It is 
the same in manufacturing districts generally. A few 
years since, it was found that of the numerous female 
depositors at Dundee only one was a factory worker; 
the rest were for the most part servants. 

There is another fact that is remarkable. The habit 
of saving does not so much prevail in those counties 
where wages are the highest as in those counties where 
wages are the lowest. Previous to the era of post-of¬ 
fice savings-banks, the inhabitants of Wilts and Dorset 
—where wages are about the lowest in England—de¬ 
posited more money in the savings-banks, per head of 
the population, than they did in Lancashire and York¬ 
shire, where wages are about the highest in England. 
Taking Yorkshire itself, and dividing it into manufac- 


436 


Deposits in Saving's Banks. 

turing and agricultural, the manufacturing inhabitants 
of the West Riding of York invested about twenty-five 
shillings per head of the population in the savings- 
banks, while the agricultural population of the East Rid¬ 
ing invested about three times that amount. 

A magistrate at Bilston, not connected with the em¬ 
ployment of workmen, has mentioned the following 
case: “ I prevailed,” he says, “ upon a workman to be¬ 
gin a deposit in the savings-bank. He came most un¬ 
willingly. His deposits were small, although I knew 
his gains to be great. I encouraged him by expressing 
satisfaction at the course he was taking. His deposits; 
became greater, and at the end of five years he drew 
out the fund he had accumulated, bought a piece of 
land, and has built a house upon it. I think if I had 
not spoken to him, the whole amount would have been 
spent in feasting, or clubs, or contributions to the trades, 
unions. That man’s eyes are now open; his social po¬ 
sition is raised; he sees and feels as we do, and will 
influence others to follow his example.” 

From what we have said, it will be obvious that 
there can be no doubt as to the ability of a large pro¬ 
portion of the better-paid classes of workingmen to lay 
by a store of savings. When they set their minds up¬ 
on any subject, they have no difficulty in finding the 
requisite money. A single town in Lancashire con¬ 
tributed $150,000 to support their fellow-workmen 
when on a strike in an adjoining town. At a time 
when there are no strikes, why should they not save as 
much money on their own account for their own per¬ 
manent comfort? Many workmen already save with 


437 


Savings of Workingmen. 

this object, and what they do, all might do. We know 
of one large mechanical establishment, situated in an 
agricultural district, where the temptations to useless 
expenditure are few, in which nearly all the men are 
habitual economists, and have saved sums varying from 
$1,000 to $2,500 each. 

Many factory operatives, with their families, might 
easily lay by from five to ten shillings a week, which in 
a few years would amount to considerable sums. At 
Darwen, only a short time ago, an operative drew his 
savings out of the bank to purchase a row of cottages, 
now become his property. Many others, in the same 
place, and in the neighboring towns, are engaged in 
building cottages for themselves, some by means of 
their contributions to building societies, and others by 
means of their savings accumulated in the bank. 

A respectably dressed workingman, when making a 
payment one day at the Bradford Savings-bank, which 
brought his account up to nearly eighty pounds, in¬ 
formed the manager how it was that he had been in¬ 
duced to become a depositor. He had been a drinker, 
but one day accidently finding his wife’s savings-bank 
deposit-book, from which he learned that she had laid 
by about $100, he said to himself, “ Well, now, if this 
can be done while I am spending, what might we do if 
both were saving?” The man gave up his drinking, 
and became one of the most respectable persons of his 
class. “ I owe it all,” he said, “ to my wife and the 
savings-bank.” 

The penny bank reaches a class of persons of very 
:small means, whose ability to save is much less than 


438 


Penny Banks . 


that of the highly paid workmen, and who, if the money 
were left in their pockets, would in most cases spend it 
in the nearest public house. When a penny bank was 
established at Putney, and the deposits were added up 
at the end of the first year, a brewer, who was on the 
committee, made the remark, “Well, that represents 
thirty thousand pints of beer not drunk .” But the 
principal supporters of the penny banks are boys, and 
this is their most hopeful feature; for it is out of boys 
that men are made. At Huddersfield many of the lads 
go in bands from the mills to the penny banks; emula¬ 
tion as well as example urging them on. They save 
for various purposes—one to buy a chest of tools; 
another, a watch; a third, a grammar or a dictionary. 

Thus these institutions give help and strength in 
many ways, and, besides enabling young people to keep 
out of debt and honestly to pay their way, furnish them 
with the means of performing kindly and generous acts 
in times of family trial and emergency. It is an ad¬ 
mirable feature of the ragged schools that almost every 
one of them has a penny bank connected with it, for 
the purpose of training the scholars in good habits* 
which they most need; and it.is a remarkable fact that 
in one year not less than $44,000 was deposited, in 
25,637 sums, by the scholars connected with the 
Ragged-school Union. And when this can be done by 
the poor boys of the ragged schools, what might not 
be accomplished by the highly paid operatives and 
mechanics of England? 

But another capital feature in the working of penny 
banks, as regards the cultivation of prudent habits. 


Influence of Penny Banks. 439 1 

among the people, is the circumstance that the example 
of boys and girls depositing their spare weekly pennies 
has often the effect of drawing their parents after them. 
A boy goes on for weeks pa} 7 ing his pence, and taking 
home his pass-book. The book shows that he has a 
u ledger folio ” at the bank, expressly devoted to him; 
that his pennies are all duly entered, together with the 
respective dates of their deposits; that these savings 
are not lying idle, but bear interest at two and a half 
per cent, per annum, and that he can have them re¬ 
stored to him at any time, if under twenty shillings, 
without notice; and if above twenty shillings, then after 
a week’s notice has been given. 

The book is a little history in itself, and can not fail 
to be interesting to the boy’s brothers and sisters, as 
well as to his parents. They call him u good boy,”’ 
and they see he is a well-conducted boy. The father, 
if he is a sensible man, naturally bethinks him that if 
his boy can do so creditable a thing, worthy of praise* 
so might he himself. Accordingly, on the next Satur¬ 
day night, when the boy goes to deposit his threepence 
at the penny bank, the father often sends his shilling. 
Thus a good beginning is often made, and a habit 
initiated, which, if persevered in, very shortly exercises 
a most salutary influence on the entire domestic condi¬ 
tion of the family. The observant mother is quick to 
observe the effects of this new practice upon the happi¬ 
ness of the home; and in course of time, as the younger 
children grow up and earn money, she encourages them 
to follow the elder boy’s example. She herself takes 
them by the hand, leads them to the penny bank, and 


440 


The Wife a Helpmeet . 


accustoms them to invest their savings there. Women 
have even more influence in such matters than men; 
and where they exercise it, the beneficial effects are 
much more lasting. 

One evening, a strong, muscular mechanic appeared 
at the Bradford Savings-bank in his working dress, 
bringing with him three children, one of them in his 
arms. He placed on the counter their deposit-books, 
which his wife had previously been accustomed to pre¬ 
sent, together with ten shillings, to be equally appor¬ 
tioned among the three. Pressing to his bosom the 
child in his arms, the man said, “Poor things! they 
have lost their mother since they were here last; but I 
must do the best I can for them.” And he continued 
the good lesson to his children which his wife had 
begun, bringing them with him each time to see their 
little deposits made. 

There is an old English proverb which says, “ He 
that would thrive must first ask his wife;” but the wife 
must not only let her husband thrive, but help him, 
otherwise she is not the “ helpmeet ” which is as need¬ 
ful for the domestic comfort and satisfaction of the 
working man, as of every other man who undertakes 
the responsibility of a family. Women form the moral 
atmosphere in which we grow when children; and they 
have a great deal to do with the life when we become 
men. It is true that the men may hold the reins; but 
it is generally the women who tell them which way to 
drive. What Rosseau said is very near the truth: 
“ Men will always be what women make them.” 

Neglect of small things is the rock on which the 


Little Things. 441 

great majority of the human race have split. Human 
life consists of a succession of small events, each of 
which is comparatively unimportant, and yet the hap¬ 
piness and success of every man depend upon the man¬ 
ner in which these small events are dealt with. Char¬ 
acter is built up on little things—little things well and 
honorably transacted. The success of a man in busi¬ 
ness depends on his attention to little things. The com¬ 
fort of a household is the result of small things well 
arranged and duly provided for. Good government 
can only be accomplished in the same way—by well- 
regulated provision for the doing of little things. 

Accumulations of knowledge and experience of the 
most valuable kind are the result of little bits of knowl¬ 
edge and experience carefully treasured up. Those who 
learn nothing, or accumulate nothing in life, are set 
down as failures, because they have neglected little 
things. They may themselves consider that the world 
has gone against them; but, in fact, they have been 
-their own enemies. There has long been a popular 
belief in “good luck; ” but, like many othex* 1 popular 
•notions, it is gradually giving way. The conviction is 
■extending that diligence is the mother of good luck; 
in other words, that a man’s success in life will be pro¬ 
portionate to his efforts, to his industry, to his attention 
to small things. Your negligent, shiftless, loose fellows 
never meet with luck; because the results of industry 
are denied to those who will not use the proper efforts 
to secure them. 

It is not luck, but labor, that makes men. “ Luck 
is ever waiting for something to turn up; Labor, with 


442 


Luck and Labor . 


keen eye and strong will, always turns up something* 
Luck lies in bed, and wishes the postman would bring 
him news of a legacy; Labor turns out at six, and with, 
busy pen or ringing hammer lays the foundation of a 
competence. Luck whines; Labor whistles. Luck 
relies on chance; Labor, on character. Luck slips 
downward to self-indulgence; Labor strides upward, 
and aspires to independence.” 

There are many little things in the household, atten¬ 
tion to which is indispensable to health and happiness. 
Cleanliness consists in attention to a number of apparent 
trifles—the scrubbing of a floor, the dusting of a chair, 
the cleansing of a tea-cup; but the general result of 
the whole is an atmosphere of moral and physical well¬ 
being—a condition favorable to the highest growth of 
human character. The kind of air which circulates 
in a house may seem a small matter, for we can not 
see the air, and few people know any thing about it; 
yet if we do not provide a regular supply of pure air 
within our houses, we shall inevitably suffer for our 
neglect. A few specks of dirt may seem unimportant, 
and a closed door or window would appear to make 
little difference; but it may make the difference of a 
life destroyed by fever; and therefore the little dirt and 
the little bad air are really very serious matters. The 
whole of the household regulations are, taken by them¬ 
selves, trifles, but trifles tending to important results. 

A man may work hard, and earn high wages; but 
if he allow the pennies, which are the result of hard 
work, to slip out of his fingers—some going to the beer- 
shop, some this way, and some that—he will find that 


The Thrifty Woman. 443 

his lite of hard work is little raised above a life of ani¬ 
mal drudgery. On the other hand, if he take care of 
the pennies, putting some weekly into a benefit society 
or an insurance fund, others into a savings-bank, and 
confide the rest to his wife to be carefully laid out, 
with a view to the comfortable maintenance and cul¬ 
ture of his family, he will soon find that his attention 
to small matters will abundantly repay him, in increas¬ 
ing means, in comfort at home, and in a mind compara¬ 
tively free from fears as to the future. 

If a man does not know how to save his pennies or 
his pounds, his nose will always be kept to the grind¬ 
stone. Want may come upon him any day, “like an 
armed man.” Careful saving acts like magic; once 
begun, it grows into a habit. It gives a man a feeling 
of satisfaction, of strength, of security. The pennies 
he has put aside in his savings-box, or in the savings- 
bank, give him an assurance of comfort in sickness, or 
of rest in old age. The man who saves has something 
to weather-fend him against want; while the man who 
saves not has nothing between him and bitter, biting 
poverty. 

A man may be disposed to save money, and lay it 
by for sickness or for other purposes; but he can not do 
this unless his wife lets him, or helps him. A prudent, 
frugal, thrifty woman is a crown of glory to her hus¬ 
band. She helps him in all his good resolutions; she 
may, by quiet and gentle encouragement, bring out his 
better qualities; and by her example she may implant 
in him noble principles, which are the seeds of the 
highest practical virtues. 


444 


A Man's Daily Life. 


A man’s daily life is the best test of his moral and 
social state. Take two men, for instance, both work¬ 
ing at the same trade and earning the same money; 
yet how different they may be as respects their actual 
condition! The one looks a free man; the other a 
slave. The one lives in a snug cottage; the other in a 
mud hovel. The one has always a decent coat to his 
back; the other is in rags. The children of the one 
are clean, well-dressed, and at school; the children of 
the other are dirty, filthy, and often in the gutter. The 
one possesses the ordinary comforts of life, as well 
as many of its pleasures and conveniences — per¬ 
haps a well-chosen library; the other has few of the 
comforts of life, certainly no pleasures, enjoyments, nor 
books. And yet these two men earn the same wages. 
What is the cause of the difference between them? 

It is this: The one man is intelligent and prudent; 
the other is the reverse. The one denies himself for 
the benefit of his wife, his family, and his home; the 
other denies himself nothing, but lives under the tyranny 
of evil habits. The one is a sober man, and takes 
pleasure in making his home attractive and his family 
comfortable; the other cares nothing for his home and 
family, but spends the greater part of his earnings in 
the gin-shop or the public-house. The one man looks 
up; the other looks down. The standard of enjoyment 
of the one is high, and of the other low. The one man 
likes books, which instruct and elevate his mind; the 
other likes drink, which tends to lower and brutalize 
him. The one saves his money; the other wastes it. 


CHAPTER XVIII.. 


\ 


COURAGE. 

“ If thou canst plan a noble deed, 

And never flag till it succeed, 

Though in the strife thy heart should bleed;. 

Whatever obstacles control, 

Thine hour will come—go on, true soul! 

Thou’lt win the prize, thou’lt reach the goal.”—C; MACKAY; 

“ The heroic example of other days is in great part the source of the courage- 
of each generation ; and men walk up composedly to the most perilous enter-, 
prises, beckoned onward by the shades of the braves that were.”— Helps. 

HE world owes much to its men and women of' 
courage. We do not mean physical courage, 
in which man is at least equalled by the bull¬ 
dog; nor is the bull-dog considered the wisest 
of his species. 

The courage that displays itself in silent effort and 
endeavor—that dares to endure all and suffer all for 
truth and duty—is more truly heroic than the achieve¬ 
ments of physical valor, which are rewarded by honors 
and titles, or by laurels sometimes steeped, in. blood. 

It is moral courage that characterizes the highest or¬ 
der of manhood and womanhood—the courage, to seek 
and to speak the truth; the courage to be just; the cour¬ 
age to be honest; the courage to resist temptation; the 
courage to do one’s duty. If men and women do not 
possess this virtue, they have no security- whatever? for- 
the preservation of any other. 








446 


Moral Courage . 

Every step of progress in the history of our race has 
been made in the face of opposition and difficulty, and 
been achieved and secured by men of intrepidity and 
valor—by leaders in the van of thought—by great dis¬ 
coverers, great patriots and great workers in all walks 
of life. There is scarcely a great truth or doctrine but 
has had to fight its way to public recognition in the 
face of detraction, calumny, and persecution. “Every¬ 
where,” says Heine, “ that a great soul gives utterance 
to its thoughts, there also is a Golgotha.” 

Socrates was condemned to drink the hemlock at 
Athens in his seventy-second year, because his lofty 
teaching ran counter to the prejudices and party spirit 
of his age. He was charged by his accusers with cor¬ 
rupting the youth of Athens by inciting them to despise 
the tutelary deities of the state. He had the moral 
courage to brave not only the tyranny of the judges 
who condemned him, but of the mob who could not un¬ 
derstand him. He died discoursing of the doctrine of 
the immortality of the sbul; his last words to his judges 
being, u it is now time that we depart—I to die, you to 
live; but which has the better destiny is unknown to all 
except to God.’ 

How many great men and thinkers have been perse¬ 
cuted in the name of religion! Bruno was burnt alive 
at Rome, because of his exposure of the fashionable but 
false philosophy of his time. When the judges of the 
Inquisition condemned him to die, Bruno said proudly, 
“ you are more afraid to pronounce my sentence than I 
am to receive it.” 

There was scarcely a great discovery in astronomy, 


447 


Martyrs for Science. 

in natural history, or in physical science, which was not 
once denounced as leading to infidelity. The followers 
of Copernicus were branded as unbelievers. After 
Lippersley had invented the telescope, Galileo took up 
the idea, and constructed a telescope of his own, with 
which he ascended the tower of St. Mark, at Venice, 
to view the heavenly bodies. He directed it to the 
planets and fixed stars, which he observed with u in¬ 
credible delight.” He discovered the satellites and 
rings of Jupiter, the phases of Venus, and the spots on 
the sun. He faithfully recorded the revelations that 
came down to him direct from the skies. But all this 
was at variance with the received ideas of the time. 
The Inquisition undertook to regulate the astronomical 
science. Galileo was called to Rome and summoned 
before the Inquisitors to answer for the heretical doc¬ 
trines he had published. He was compelled to renounce 
his opinions, he declared that he abandoned the doc¬ 
trine of the earth’s motion round the sun. The In¬ 
quisitors inserted in the prohibited index the works of 
Galileo, Kepler, and Copernicus. Galileo plucked up 
heart again, and published a new work, in the form of 
a dialogue, defending his doctrines. He was sum¬ 
moned before the Inquisition, and compelled, on bended 
knees, to renounce and abjure his glorious discovery. 
Galileo wanted the courage of his opinions. But he 
was an old man of seventy when he denied his faith. 
Galileo would not have been persecuted could he have 
been answered. Yet the truth lived, and men were set 
on the right track of observation for all ages to come. 
Pascal said of his condemnation: “ It is in vain that 


448 


Martyrs for Science . 


you have procured against Galileo a decree from Rome 
condemning his opinions of the, earth’s motion. As¬ 
suredly that will never prove it to be at rest; and if 
we have unerring observations proving that it turns 
round, not all mankind together can keep it from turn¬ 
ing, nor themselves from turning with it.” 

The life of Kepler was as sad as that of Galileo. 
Originally a poor boy, he was admitted to the school 
at the monastery of Maulbroom, and eventually became 
a learned man. He accepted the astronomical chair at 
Gratz and devoted himself to the study of the planets. 
He was afterward appointed imperial mathematician to 
the emperor; though his salary was insufficient to main¬ 
tain himself and his family. He was excommunicated 
by the church because of some opinions he had ex¬ 
pressed respecting transubstantiation. “Judge ” he 
said to Hoffman, “how far I can assist you, in a place 
where the priest and school inspector have combined 
to brand me with the public stigma of heresy, because 
in every question I take that side which seems to me 
consonant with the will of God.” 

Kepler was then offered the professorship of mathe¬ 
matics at Bologna, but having thq recantation and con¬ 
demnation ol Galileo before him he declined the chair. 
“ I might,” he said, “ notably increase my fortune, but, 
living a German among Germans, I am accustomed to* 
a freedom of speech and manners which, if persevered 
in at Bologna, would draw upon me, if not danger, at 
least notoriety, and might expose me to suspicion and 
party malice.” 

In 1619 Kepler discovered the celebrated law which 


Martyrs for Science. 


449 


will be ever memorable in the history of science, “ that 
the squares of the periodic times of the planets are to 
one another as the cubes of their distances.” He 
recognized with transport the absolute truth of a prin¬ 
ciple which, for seventeen years, had been the object 
of his incessant labors. “ The die is cast,” he said; 
u the book is written, to be read either now or by pos¬ 
terity—I care not which. It may well wait a century 
for a reader, as God has waited six thousand years for 
an observer.” 

The next book Kepler published, “ The Epitome of 
the Copernican Astronomy,” was condemned at Rome 
and placed in the prohibited Index. In the meantime, 
his mind was distracted by a far greater trouble. His 
mother, seventy-nine years old, was thrown into prison, 
condemned to torture, and was about to be burned as 
a witch. Kepler immediately flew to her relief, and 
arrived at his Swabian home in time to save her from 
further punishment. Rut more troubles followed. The 
States of Styria ordered all the copies of his “ Kalen- 
dar” for 1624 to be publicly burned. His library was 
sealed up by order of the Jesuits, and he was compelled 
to leave Lintz by the popular insurrection which then 
prevailed. He went to Sagan in Silesia, and shortly 
after died there of disease of the brain, the result of 
too much study. 

When Columbus stated his views to King Ferdinand 
the clergy declared that the theory of an antipodes was 
hostile to the faith. The earth, they said, was an im¬ 
mense flat disc; and if there was a new earth beyond 
29 


450 Perseciitioji of Great Discoverers . 

the ocean, then all men could not be descended from 
Adam. Columbus was dismissed as a fool. 

Roger Bacon, the Franciscan monk, was persecuted 
on account of his studies in natural philosophy, and 
he was charged with dealing in magic, because of his 
investigations in chemistry. His writings were con¬ 
demned, and he was thrown into prison, where he lay 
for ten years, during the lives of four successive popes. 
It is even averred that he died in prison. Ockham, the 
early English speculative philosopher, was excommu¬ 
nicated, and died in exile at Munich, where he was 
protected by the friendship of the Emperor of Ger¬ 
many. 

The Inquisition branded Vesalius as a heretic for re¬ 
vealing man to man, as it had before branded Bruno 
and Galileo for revealing the heavens to man. Versalius 
had the boldness to study the structure of the human 
body by actual dissection, a practice until then almost 
entirely forbidden. He laid the foundations of a science, 
but he paid for it with his life. Condemned by the In¬ 
quisition, his penalty was commuted, by the interces¬ 
sion of the Spanish king, into a pilgrimage to the Holy 
Land; and when on his way back, while still in the 
prime of life, he died miserably at Zante, of fever and 
want—a martyr to his love of science. 

When the “ Novum Organon ” appeared, a hue and 
cry was raised against it, because of its alleged tend¬ 
ency to produce “dangerous revolutions,” to “subvert 
governments,” and to “ overturn the authority of re¬ 
ligion;” and one Dr. Henry Stubbe wrote a book 


Hostility to New Views . 


451 


against the new philosophy, denouncing the whole tribe 
of experimentalists as a u Bacon-faced generation.” 
Even the establishment of the Royal Society was op¬ 
posed, on the ground that “ experimental philosophy is 
subversive of the Christian faith.” Even the pure and 
simple-minded Newton, of whom Bishop Burnet said 
that he had the whitest soul he ever knew—who was a 
very infant in the purity of his mind—even Newton was 
v accused of “ dethroning the Diety ” by his sublime dis¬ 
covery of the law of gravitation; and a similar charge 
was made against Franklin for explaining the nature 
of the thunderbolt. 

Spinoza was excommunicated by the Jews, to whom 
he belonged, because of his views of philosophy, which 
were supposed to be adverse to religion; and his life 
was afterwards attempted by an assassin for the same 
reason. Spinoza remained courageous and self-reliant 
to the last, dying in obscurity and poverty. 

The philosophy of Descartes was denounced as lead¬ 
ing to irreligion; the doctrines of Locke were said to 
produce materialism, and in our own day, Dr. Buck- 
land, Mr. Sedgewick, and other leading geologists, have 
been accused of overturning revelation with regard to 
the constitution and history of the earth. Indeed, there 
has scarcely been a discovery in astronomy, in natural 
history, or in physical science, that has not been at¬ 
tacked by the bigoted and narrow-minded as leading to 
infidelity. 

Other great discoverers, though they may not have 
been charged with irreligion, have had not less obloquy 
of a professional and public nature to encounter. When 


452 Devotion and Self-sacrifice . 

Dr. Harvey published his theory of the circulation of 
the blood, his practice fell off, and the medical profes¬ 
sion stigmatised him as a fool. “ The few good things 
I have been able to do,” said John Hunter, “ have been 
accomplished with the greatest difficulty, and encoun¬ 
tered the greatest opposition.” Sir Charles Bell, while 
employed in his important investigations as to the nerv¬ 
ous system, which issued in one of the greatest of phys¬ 
iological discoveries, wrote to a friend: “If I were not 
so poor, and had not so many vexations to encounter, 
how happy would I be!” But he himself observed that 
his practice sensibly fell off after the publication of each 
successive stage of his discovery. 

Thus nearly every enlargement of the domain of 
knowledge, which has made us better acquainted with 
the heavens, with the earth, and with ourselves, has 
been established by the energy, the devotion, the self- 
sacrifice, and the courage of the great spirits of past 
times, who, however much they have been opposed or 
reviled by their contemporaries, now rank among those 
whom the enlightened of the human race most delight 
to honor. 

Nor is the unjust intolerance displayed towards men 
of science in the past without its lesson for the present. 
It teaches us to be forbearant towards those who differ 
from us, provided they observe patiently, think hon¬ 
estly, and utter their convictions freely and truthfully. 
It was a remark of Plato, that u the world is God’s 
epistle to mankind;” and to read and study that epistle, 
so as to elicit its true meaning, can have no other effect 
on a well-ordered mind than to lead to a deeper impres- 


453 


Martyrs of Faith . 

sion of His power, a clearer perception of His wisdom, 
and a more greatful sense of His goodness. 

While such has been the courage of the martyrs of 
science, not less glorious has been the courage of the 
martyrs of faith. The passive endurance of the man or 
woman who, for conscience sake, is found ready to suf¬ 
fer and to endure in solitude, without so much as the 
encouragement of even a single sympathizing voice, is 
an exhibition of courage of a far higher kind than that 
displayed in the roar of battle, where even the weakest 
feels encouraged and inspired by the enthusiasm of sym¬ 
pathy and the power of numbers. Time would fail to 
tell of the deathless names of those who through faith 
in principles, and in the face of difficulty, danger and 
suffering, “ have wrought righteousness and waxed val¬ 
iant” in the moral warfare of the world, and been con¬ 
tent to lay down their lives rather than prove false to 
their conscientious convictions of the truth. 

Men of this stamp, inspired by a high sense of duty, 
have in past times exhibited character in its most heroic 
aspects, and continue to present to us some of the nob¬ 
lest spectacles to be seen in history. Even women, full 
of tenderness and gentleness, not less than men, have in 
this cause been found capable of exhibiting the most 
unflinching courage. Such, for instance, as that of 
Anne Askew, who, when racked until her bones were 
dislocated, uttered no cry, moved no muscle, but looked 
her tormentors calmly in the face, and refused either 
to confess or to recant; or such as that of Latimer and 
Ridley, who, instead of bewailing their hard fate and 
beating their breasts, went as cheerfully to their death 


454 


Fortitude of Luther . 


as a bridegroom to the altar—the one bidding the other 
to u be of good comfort, ” for that “ we shall this day 
light such a candle in England, by God’s grace, as shall 
never be put out;” or such, again, as that of Mary Dyer, 
the Quakeress, hanged by the Puritans of New Eng¬ 
land for preaching to the people, who ascended the 
scaffold with a willing step, and, after calmly address¬ 
ing those who stood about, resigned herself into the 
hands of her persecutors, and died in peace and joy. 

Not less courageous was the behavior of the good 
Sir Thomas More, who marched willingly to the scaf¬ 
fold, and died cheerfully there, rather than prove false 
to his conscience. When More had made his final de¬ 
cision to stand upon his principles, he felt as if he had 
won a victory, and said to his son-in-law Roper; “ Son 
Roper, I thank our Lord, the field is won!” The 
Duke of Norfolk told him of his danger, saying: “ By 
the mass, Master More, it is perilous striving with 
princes; the anger of a prince brings death!” “ Is 
that all, my lord?” said More; “then the difference 
between you and me is this—that I shall die to-day, 
and you to-morrow.” 

Martin Luther was not called upon to lay down his 
life for his faith; but, from the day that he declared 
himself against the pope he daily ran the risk of losing 
it. At the beginning of his great struggle he stood 
almost entirely alone. The odds against him were tre¬ 
mendous. “ On one side,” said he himself, “ are learn¬ 
ing, genius, numbers*, grandeur, rank, power, sanctity, 
miracles; on the other Wycliffe, Lorenzo Valla, Au¬ 
gustine, and Luther—a poor creature, a man of yes- 


Luther Before the Diet . 


455 


terday, standing well-nigh alone with a few friends.” 
Summoned by the emperor to appear at Worms, to 
answer the charge made against him for heresy, he 
determined to answer in person. Those about him told 
him he would lose his life if he went, and they urged 
him to fly. “ No,” said he, “ I will repair thither, 
though I should find there twice as many devils as there 
are tiles upon the house-tops!” Warned against the 
bitter enmity of a certain Duke George, he said, “ I 
will go there, though for nine whole days running it 
rained Duke Georges! ” 

Luther was as good as his word, and he set forth 
upon his perilous journey. When he came in sight of 
the old bell-towers of Worms, he stood up in his chariot 
and sang, u Ein feste Burgist unser Gott ”—the u Mar¬ 
seillaise ” of the Reformation—the words and music 
of which he is said to have improvised only two days 
before. Shortly before the meeting of the Diet, an old 
soldier, George Freundesburg, put his hand upon 
Luther’s shoulder, and said to him: “ Good monk, 
good monk, take heed what thou doest: thou art going 
into a harder fight than any of us have ever yet been 
in.” But Luther’s only answer to the veteran was, 
that he had u determined to stand upon the Bible and 
his conscience.” 

Luther’s courageous defense before the Diet is on 
record, and forms one of the most glorious pages in 
history. When finally urged by the emperor to retract, 
he said, firmly: “Sire, unless I am convinced of my 
error by the testimony of scripture, or by manifest 
evidence, I can not and will not retract, for we must 


4 50 


Moral Courage . 


never act contrary to our conscience. Such is my pro¬ 
fession of faith, and you must expect none other from 
me. Here stand I: I can not do otherwise; God help 
me! ” He had to do his duty—to obey the orders of 
a power higher than that of kings; and he did it at all 
hazards. 

Afterwards, when hard pressed by his enemies at 
Augsburg, Luther said that, “ if he had five hundred 
heads, he would lose them all rather than recant his 
article concerning faith. 1 ’ Like all courageous men, 
.his strength only seemed to grow in proportion to the 
difficulties he had to encounter and overcome. “ There 
is no man in Germany,” said Hutten, “ who more 
utterly despises death than does Luther.” And to his 
moral courage, perhaps more than to that of any other 
single man, do we owe the liberation of modern thought, 
and the vindication of the great rights of the human 
understanding. 

But it is a mistake to suppose that the days requiring 
self-sacrifice and suffering for conscience or the truth’s 
sake are past. “Modern freedom,” says Thoreau, “is 
only the exchange of the slavery of feudality for the 
slavery of opinion.” The tyranny of a multitude is 
worse than the tyranny of an individual. How many, 
even in our own progressive age, have suffered persecu¬ 
tion for bravely advocating principles and doctrines 
which they believed to be true? The decisions reached 
by counsels and conferences are but an expression of 
the average or popular opinion. Men of earnest thought 
are generally far in advance of the average sentiment. 
What wonder is it then that the most profound, the 


457 


Common Courage . 

best, the most earnest men of every age have been men 
who were abused by their associates, or through charges 
of heresy expelled from the churches? 

William Penn was of opinion that there was no greater 
mistake than to suppose that a country or a people 
were strengthened by all the people holding one opinion, 
whether upon religious doctrine or religious practice; 
and that a variety of opinions, of professions, and of 
practice, was a strength to a people and to a govern¬ 
ment, if all were alike tolerated. Individuality must 
be upheld; for without individuality there can be no 
liberty. Individuality is everywhere to be spared and 
respected, as the root of every thing good. u Even 
despotism does not produce its worst effects” says John 
Stuart Mill, so long as individuality exists under it; and 
whatever crushes individuality is despotism, by what¬ 
ever name it may be called, and whether it professes to 
be enforcing the will of God or the injunctions of men.” 

But the greater part of the courage that is needed in 
the world is not of a heroic kind. Courage may be 
displayed in every-day life as well as in historic fields 
of action. There needs, for example, the common 
courage to be honest—the courage to resist temptation 
—the courage to speak the truth—the courage to be 
what we really are, and not to pretend to be what we 
are not—the courage to live honestly within our own 
means, and not dishonestly upon the means of others. 
A great deal of the unhappiness, and much of the 
vice, of the world is owing to weakness and indecision 
of purpose—in other words, to lack of courage. Men 
may know what is right, and yet fail to exercise the 


458 


The Virtue of Self-help . 


courage to do it; they may understand the* duty they 
have to do, but will not summon up the requisite reso¬ 
lution to perform it. The weak and undisciplined man 
is at the mercy of every temptation; he can not say 
“ No,” but falls before it. And if his companionship 
be bad, he will be all the easier led away by bad ex¬ 
ample into wrong-doing. 

Nothing can be more certain than tnat the character 
can only be sustained and strengthened by its own en¬ 
ergetic action. The will, which is the central force of 
character must be trained to habits of decision— 
otherwise it will neither be able to resist evil nor to 
follow good. Decision gives the power of standings 
firmly, when to yield, however slightly, might be only 
the first step in a down-hill course to ruin. 

Calling upon others for help in forming a decision is 
worse than useless. A man must so train his habits- 
as to rely upon his own powers, and depend upon 
his own courage in moments of emergency. Plutarch 
tells of a King of Macedon who, in the midst of an 
action, withdrew into the adjoining town to sacrifice 
to Hercules; while his opponent Emilius, at the same- 
time that he implored the Divine aid, sought for vic¬ 
tory sword in hand, and won the battle. And so it 
ever is in the actions of daily life. 

There needs also the exercise of no small degree of 
moral courage to resist the corrupting influences of 
what is called “ Society ” Although “ Mrs. Grundy 
may be a very vulgar and commonplace personage, her 
influence is nevertheless prodigious. Most men, but 
especially women, are the moral slaves of the class or 


Despotism of Fashion. 45£> 

caste to which they belong. There is a sort of uncon¬ 
scious conspiracy existing among them against each 
other’s individuality. Each circle and' section, each 
rank and class, has its respective customs and obser¬ 
vances, to which conformity is required at the risk of 
being tabooed. Some are immured within a bastile of 
fashion, others of custom, others of opinion; and few 
there are who have the courage to think outside their 
sect, to act outside their party, and to step out into the 
free air of individual thought and action. We dress, 
and eat, and follow fashion, though it may be at the 
risk of debt, ruin and misery; living not so much ac¬ 
cording to our means as according to the superstitious- 
observances of our class. Though we may speak con¬ 
temptuously of the Indians who flatten their heads, and 
of the Chinese who cramp their toes, we have only 
to look at the deformities of fashion among ourselves, 
to see that the reign of u Mrs. Grundy ” is universal. 

It is the strong and courageous men who lead and 
guide and rule the world. The weak and timid leave 
no trace behind them; while the life of a single upright 
and energetic man is like a track of light. His exam¬ 
ple is remembered and appealed to, and his thoughts, 
his spirit, and his courage continue to be the inspiration 
of succeeding generations. 

Men often conquer difficulties because they feel they 
can. Their confidence in themselves inspires the con¬ 
fidence of others. When Caesar was at sea, and a 
storm began to rage, the captain of the ship which car¬ 
ried him became unmanned by fear. “ What art thou 
afraid of?” cried the great captain; “ thy vessel carries 


460 


Energy and Perseverance. 

Caesar!” The courage of the brave man is contagious, 
and carries others along with it. His stronger nature 
awes weaker natures into silence, or inspires them with 
his own will and purpose. 

The persistent man will not be baffled or repulsed by 
opposition. Diogenes, desirous of becoming the disci¬ 
ple of Antisthenes, went and offered himself to the cynic. 
He was refused. Diogenes still persisting, the cynic 
raised his knotty staff and threatened to strike him if 
he did not depart. “Strike!” said Diogenes; “you 
Will not find a stick hard enough to conquer my per¬ 
severance.” Antisthenes, overcome, had not another 
word to say, but forthwith accepted him as his pupil. 

Inspired by energy of purpose, men of comparatively 
mediocre powers have often been enabled to accomp¬ 
lish extraordinary results. The men who have most 
powerfully influenced the world have not been so much 
men of genius as men of strong convictions and endur¬ 
ing capacity for work, impelled by irresistible energy 
and invincible determination; such men, for example, 
as were Mohammed, Luther, Knox, Calvin, Loyola and 
Wesley. 

Courage, combined with energy and perseverance, 
will overcome difficulties apparently insurmountable. 
It gives force and impulse to effort, and does not per¬ 
mit it to retreat. Tyndall said of Faraday, that “in his 
warm moments he formed a resolution, and in his cool 
ones he made that resolution good.” Perseverance, 
working in the right direction, grows with time, and 
when steadily practiced, even by the most humble, will 
rarely fail of its reward. Trusting in the help of others 


461 


Generosity of the Brave. 

is of comparatively little use. When one of Michael 
Angelo’s principal patrons died, he said: “I begin to 
understand that the promises of the world are for the 
most part vain phantoms, and that to confide in one’s 
self, and become something of worth and value, is the 
best and safest course.” 

It is the courageous man who can best afford to be 
generons; or, rather, it is his nature to be so. When 
Fairfax, at the battle of Naseby, seized the colors from 
an ensign whom he had struck down in the fight, he 
handed them to a common soldier to take care of. The 
soldier, unable to resist the temptation, boasted to his 
comrades that he himself seized the colors, and the 
boast was repeated to Fairfax. “ Let him retain the 
honor,” said the commander; “ I have enough beside.” 

So when Douglas, at the battle of Bannockburn, saw 
Randolph, his rival, outnumbered and apparently over¬ 
powered by the enemy, he prepared to hasten to his 
assistance; but seeing that Randolph was already driv¬ 
ing them back, he cried out, “ hold and halt! We are 
come too late to aid them; let us not lessen the victory 
they have won by affecting to claim a share in it.” 

It is related of Charles V. that, after the siege and 
capture of Whittenburg by the Imperialist army, the 
monarch went to see the tomb of Luther. While read¬ 
ing the inscription on it, one of the servile courtiers 
who accompanied him proposed to open the grave and 
give the ashes of the “ heretic ” to the winds. The 
monarch’s cheek flushed with honest indignation. “ I 
war not with the dead,” said he; “ let this place be re¬ 
spected.” 


462 


The Magnanimous Man. 

The portrait which the great Aristotle drew of the 
Magnanimous Man, in other words, the True Gentle¬ 
man, more than two thousand years ago, is as faithful 
now as it was then. “ The magnanimous man,” he 
said, “ will behave with moderation under both good 
fortune and bad. He will know how to be exalted and 
how to be abased. He will neither be delighted with 
success nor grieved by failure. He will neither shun 
danger nor seek it, for there are few things which he 
cares for. He is reticent, and somewhat slow of speech, 
but speaks his mind openly and boldly when occasion 
calls for it. He overlooks injuries. He is not given to 
talk about himself or about others; for he does not care 
that he himself should be praised, or that other people 
should be blamed. He does not cry out about trifles, 
and craves help from none.” 

On the other hand, mean men admire meanly. They 
have neither modesty, generosity, nor magnanimity. 
They are ready to take advantage of the weakness or 
defenselessness of others** especially where they have 
themselves succeeded, by unscrupulous methods, in 
climbing to positions of authority. Snobs in high 
places are always much less tolerable than snobs of low 
degree, because they have more frequent opportunities 
of making their want of manliness felt. They assume 
greater airs, and are pretentious in all that they do; 
and the higher their elevation, the more conspicuous is 
the incongruity of their position. “ The higher the 
monkey climbs,” says the proverb, “ the more he shows 
his tail.” 

Much depends on the way in which a thing is done. 


Fear to be Avoided . 


463 


An act which might be taken as a kindness if done* in 
a generous spirit, when done in a grudging spirit may 
be felt as stingy, if not harsh and even cruel. When 
Ben Johnson lay sick and in poverty, the king sent him 
a paltry message, accompanied by a gratuity. The 
sturdy, plain-spoken poet’s reply was: U I suppose he 
sends me this because I live in an alley; tell him his 
soul lives in an alley.” 

From what we have said, it will be obvious that to be 
of an enduring and courageous spirit is of great impor¬ 
tance in the formation of character. It is a source not 
only of usefulness in life, but of happiness. On the 
other hand, to be of a timid and, still more, of a cow¬ 
ardly nature, is one of the greatest misfortunes. A 
wise man was accustomed to say that one of the prin¬ 
cipal objects he aimed at in the education of his sons 
and daughters was to train them in the habit of fearing 
nothing so much as fear. And the habit of avoiding 
fear is, doubtless, capable of being trained like any 
other habit, such as the habit of attention, of diligence, 
of study, or of cheerfulness. 

Much of the fear that exists is the offspring of imag¬ 
ination, which creates the images of evils which may 
happen, but perhaps rarely do; and thus many persons 
who are capable of summoning up courage enough to 
grapple with and overcome real dangers, are paralyzed 
or thrown into consternation by those which are imagi¬ 
nary. Hence, unless the imagination be held under 
strict discipline, we are prone to meet evils more than 
half-way—to suffer them by forestallment, and to as¬ 
sume the burdens which we ourselves create. 


464 Courage of Women . 

Education in courage is not usually included among 
the branches of female training, and yet it is really of 
much greater importance than either music, French, or 
the use of the globes. Contrary to the view of Sir 
Richard Steele, that women should be characterized by 
a “tender fear,” and “an inferiority which makes her 
lovely,” we would have women educated in resolution 
and courage, as a means of rendering them more 
helpful, more self-reliant, and vastly more useful and 
happy. 

There is, indeed, nothing attractive in timidity, noth¬ 
ing lovable in fear. All weakness, whether of mind 
or body, is equivalent to deformity, and the reverse of 
interesting. Courage is graceful and dignified; while 
fear, in any form, is mean and repulsive. Yet the ut¬ 
most tenderness and gentleness are consistent with 
courage. Ary Scheffer, the artist, once wrote to his 
daughter: “ Dear daughter, strive to be of good cour¬ 
age, to be gentle-hearted; these are the true qualities 
for woman. 4 Troubles’ every body must expect. There 
is but one way of looking at fate—whatever that be, 
whether blessings or afflictions—to behave with dignity 
under both. We must not lose heart, or it will be the 
worse both for ourselves and for those whom we love. 
To struggle, and again and again to renew the conflict 
—this is life’s inheritance.” 

In sickness and sorrow none are braver and less com¬ 
plaining sufferers than women. Their courage, where 
their hearts are concerned, is indeed proverbial. Ex¬ 
perience has proved that women can be as enduring as 
men under the heaviest trials and calamities; but too 


465 


Moral Strength of Women . 

little pains are taken to tea-ch them to endure petty ter¬ 
rors and frivolous vexations with fortitude. Such little 
miseries, if petted and indulged, quickly run into sickly 
sensibility, and become the bane of their life, keeping 
themselves and those about them in a state of chronic 
discomfort. 

The best corrective of this condition of mind is 
wholesome moral and mental discipline. Mental strength 
is as necessary for the development of woman’s charac¬ 
ter as of man’s. It gives her capacity to deal with the 
affairs of life, and presence of mind, which enable her 
to act with vigor and effect in moments of emergency. 
Character in a woman, as in a man, will always be 
found the best safeguard of virtue, the best nurse of 
religion, the best corrective of Time. Personal beauty 
soon passes; but beauty of mind and character increases 
in attractiveness the older it grows. 

Women have not only distinguished themselves for 
their passive courage, but, impelled by affection, or the 
sense of duty, they have become heroic. When the 
band of conspirators who sought the life of James II., 
of Scotland, burst into his lodgings at Perth, the king 
called to the ladies, who were in the chamber outside 
his room, to keep the door as well as they could, and 
give him time to escape. The conspirators had previ¬ 
ously destroyed the locks of the doors, so that the keys 
could not be turned; and when they reached the ladies’ 
apartment, it was found that the bar also had been re¬ 
moved. But, on hearing them approach, the brave 
Catherine Douglas, with the hereditary courage of her 
family, boldly thrust her arm across the door instead of 
30 


466 


Heroism of Women. 


the bar, and held it there until, her arm being broken, 
the conspirators burst into the room with drawn swords 
and daggers, overthrowing the ladies, who, though un¬ 
armed, still endeavored to resist them. 

The defense of Lathom House by Charlotte de Tre- 
mouille, the worthy descendant of William of Nassau 
and Admiral Coligny, was another striking instance of 
heroic bravery on the part of a noble woman. When 
summoned by the Parliamentary forces to surrender, 
she declared that she had been entrusted by her hus¬ 
band with the defence of the house, and that she could 
not give it up without her dear lord’s order, but trusted 
in God for protection and deliverance. In her arrange¬ 
ments for the defense, she is described as having “ left 
nothing with her eye to be excused afterwards by for¬ 
tune or negligence, and added to her former patience 
a most resolved fortitude.'” The brave lady held her 
house and home against the enemy for a whole year— 
during three months of which the place was strictly be¬ 
sieged and bombarded—until at length the siege was 
raised, after a most gallant defense, by the advance of 
the Royalist army. 

Nor can we forget the courage of Lady Franklin, 
who persevered to the last, when the hopes of all others 
had died out, in prosecuting the search after the Frank¬ 
lin Expedition. On the occasion of the Royal Geo¬ 
graphical Society determining to award the “Founder’s 
Medal” to Lady Franklin, Sir Roderick Murchison ob¬ 
served that, in the course of a long friendship with her, 
he had abundant opportunity of observing and testing 
the sterling qualities of a woman who had proved her- 


Women Philanthropists . 467 

self worthy of the admiration of mankind. “ Nothing 
daunted by failure after failure, through twelve long 
years of hope deferred, she had persevered, with a sin¬ 
gleness of purpose and a sincere devotion which were 
truly unparalleled. And now that her last expedition, 
under the gallant M’Clintock, had realized the two 
great facts—that her husband had traversed wide seas 
unknown to former navigators, and died in discovering 
a northwest passage—then, surely, the adjudication of 
the medal would be hailed by the nation as one of the 
many recompenses to which the widow of the illustrious 
Franklin was so eminently entitled. 1 

But that devotion to duty which marks the heroic 
character has more often been exhibited by women in 
deeds of charity and mercy. The greater part of these 
are never known, for they are done in private, out of 
the public sight, and for the mere love of doing good. 
Where fame has come to them, because of the success 
which has attended their labors in a more general 
sphere, it has come unsought and unexpected, and is 
often felt as a burden. Who has not heard of Mrs. 
Fry and Miss Carpenter as prison-visitors and reform¬ 
ers; of Mrs. Chisholm and Miss Rye as promoters of 
emigration; and of Miss Nightingale and Miss Garrett 
as apostles of hospital nursing? That these women 
should have emerged from the sphere of private and 
domestic life to become leaders in philanthropy, indi¬ 
cates no small degree of moral courage on their part; 
for to women, above all others, quiet and ease and re¬ 
tirement are most natural and welcome. Very few 
women step beyond the boundaries of home in search 


468 


Story of Sarah Martin . 

of a larger field of usefulness. But when they have de¬ 
sired one, they have had no difficulty in finding it. The 
ways in which men and women can help their neigh¬ 
bors are innumerable. It needs but the willing heart 
and ready hand. Most of the philanthropic workers 
we have named, however, have scarcely been influenced 
by choice. The duty lay in their way—it seemed to 
be the nearest to them—and they set about doing it 
without desire for fame, or any other reward but the 
approval of their own conscience. 

Among prison-visitors the name of Sarah Martin is 
much less known than that of Mrs. Fry, although she 
preceded her in the work. How she was led to un¬ 
dertake it, furnishes at the same time an illustration 
of womanly true-heartedness and earnest womanly 
courage. 

Sarah Martin was the daughter of poor parents, and 
was left an orphan at an early age. She was brought 
up by her grandmother, and earned her living by go¬ 
ing out to families as assistant dress-maker,* at a shil¬ 
ling a day. In 1819 a woman was tried and sentenced 
to imprisonment in Yarmouth Jail, for cruelly beating- 
and ill-using her child, and her crime became the talk 
of the town. The young dress-maker was much im¬ 
pressed by the report of the trial, and the desire entered 
her mind of visiting the woman in jail and trying to re¬ 
claim her. She had often before, on passing the walls 
of the borough jail, felt impelled to seek admission, 
with the object of visiting the inmates, reading the 
Scriptures to them, and endeavoring to lead them back 
to the society whose laws they had violated. 


469 


Story of Sarah Martin . 

At length she could not resist the impulse to visit the 
imprisoned mother. She entered the jail-porch, lifted 
the knocker, and asked the jailer for admission. For 
some reason or other she was refused, but she returned, 
repeated her request, and this time she was admitted. 
The culprit mother shortly stood before her. When 
Sarah Martin told the motive of her visit, the criminal 
burst into tears, and thanked her. Those tears and 
thanks shaped the whole course of Sarah Martin’s af¬ 
ter-life, and the poor seamstress, while maintaining her¬ 
self by her needle, continued to spend her leisure hours 
in visiting the prisoners and endeavoring to alleviate 
their condition. She constituted herself their chaplain 
and school-mistress, for at that time they had neither; 
she read to them and taught them to read and write. 
She gave up an entire day in the week for this purpose, 
besides Sundays, as well as other intervals of spare 
time. She taught the women to knit, to sew, and to 
cut out—the sale of the articles enabling her to buy 
other materials, and to continue the industrial educa¬ 
tion thus begun. She also taught the men to make 
straw hats, men’s and boys’ caps, gray cotton shirts, 
and even patchwork, anything to keep them out of idle-* 
ness, and from preying on their own thoughts. Out of 
the earnings of the prisoners in this way she formed a 
fund, which she applied to furnishing them with work on 
their discharge; thus enabling them again to begin the 
world honestly, and at the same time affording her, as 
she herself says, “ the advantage of observing their con¬ 
duct.” 

By attending too exclusively to this prison-work, 


470 


Story of Sarah Martin . 


however, Sarah Martin’s dress-making business fell off*; 
and the question arose with her whether, in order to 
recover her business, she was to suspend her prison- 
work. But her decision had already been made. “ I 
had counted the cost,” she said, “ and my mind was 
made up. If, while imparting truth to others, I became 
exposed to temporal want r the privations so momentary 
to an individual would not admit of comparison with 
following the Lord, in thus administering to others.” 
She now devoted six or seven hours every day to the 
prisoners, converting what would otherwise have been 
a scene of dissolute idleness into a hive of orderly in¬ 
dustry. Newly-admitted prisoners were sometimes re¬ 
fractory, but her persistent gentleness eventually won 
their respect and co-operation. Men old in years and 
crime, pert London pickpockets, depraved boys and 
dissolute sailors, profligate women, smugglers and the 
promiscuous horde of criminals which usually fill the 
jail of a sea-port and county town, all submitted to the 
benign influence of this good woman; and under her 
eyes they might be seen, for the first time in their 
lives, striving to hold a pen, or to master the charac¬ 
ters in a penny primer. She entered into their confi¬ 
dence—watched, wept, prayed, and felt for all by turns. 
She strengthened their good resolutions, cheered the 
hopeless and despairing, and endeavored to put all, and 
hold all, in the right road of amendment. 

For more than twenty years this good and true¬ 
hearted woman pursued her noble course, with little 
encouragement and not much help; almost her only 
means of subsistence consisting in an annual income of 


Story of Sarah Martin. 471 

ten or twelve pounds left by her grandmotner, eked out 
by her little earnings at dress-making. During the last 
two years of her ministration, the borough magistrates, 
knowing that her self-imposed labors saved them the 
expense of a schoolmaster and chaplain, made a pro¬ 
posal to her of an annual salary of £12 a year; but 
they did it in so indelicate a manner as to greatly 
wound her sensitive feelings. She shrank from becom- 
, ing the salaried official of the corporation, and barter¬ 
ing for money those services which had throughout 
been labors of love. But the Jail Committee coarsely 
informed her “ that, if they permitted her to visit the 
prison, she must submit to their terms, or be excluded.” 
For two years, therefore, she received the salary of 
£12 a year—the acknowledgement of the Yarmouth 
corporation for her services as jail chaplain and school¬ 
mistress! She was now, however, becoming old and 
infirm, and the unhealthy atmosphere of the jail did 
much toward finally disabling her. While she lay on 
her death-bed, she resumed the exercise of a talent she 
had occasionally practiced before in her moments of 
leisure—the composition of sacred poetry. As works 
of art, they may not excite admiration; yet never were 
verses written truer in spirit, or fuller of Christian love. 
But her own life was a nobler poem than any she ever 
wrote—full of true courage, perseverance, charity, and 
wisdom. It was indeed a commentary upon her own 
words: 

“ The high desire that others may be blest 
Savors of Heaven.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


SELF-CONTROL. 

“ Honor and profit do not always lie in the same sack.’’—G eorge Herbert. 

“ The government of one’s self is the only true freedom for the individual.” 
—Frederick Perthes. 

ELF-CONTROL is only courage under anothe r 
form. It may almost be regarded as the primary 
essence of character. It is in virtue of this 
quality that Shakspeare defines man as a being 
u looking before and after.” It forms the chief dis¬ 
tinction between man and the mere animal; and, in¬ 
deed, there can be no true manhood without it. 

Self-control is at the root of all the virtues. Let a 
man give the reins to his impulses and passions, and 
from that moment he yields up his moral freedom. He 
is carried along the current of life, and becomes the 
slave of his strongest desires for the time being. 

To be morally free—to be more than an animal— 
man must be able to resist instinctive impulse, and this 
can only be done by the exercise of self-control. Thus 
it is this power which constitutes the real distinction 
between a physical and a moral life, and that form the 
primary basis of individual character. 

The best support of character will always be found 
in habit, which, according as the will is directed rightly 





473 


The Value of Discipline. 

or wrongly, as the case may be, will prove either a 
benignant ruler or a cruel despot. We may be its will¬ 
ing subject on the one hand, or its servile slave on the 
other. It may help us on the road to good, or it may 
hurry us on the road to ruin. 

Habit is formed by careful training. And it is 
astonishing how much can be accomplished by syste¬ 
matic discipline and drill. See how, for instance, 
out of the most unpromising materials—such as 
roughs picked up in the streets, or raw unkempt 
country lads taken from the plough—steady discipline 
and drill will bring out the unsuspected qualities of 
courage, endurance, and self-sacrifice; and how, in the 
field of battle, or even on the more trying occasions of 
perils by sea, such men, carefully disciplined, will ex¬ 
hibit the unmistakable characteristics of true bravery 
and heroism! 

Nor is moral discipline and drill less influential in 
the formation of character. Without it, there will be 
no proper system and order in the regulation of the 
life. Upon it depends the cultivation of the sense of 
self-respect* the education of the habit of obedience, 
the development of the idea of duty. The most self- 
reliant, self-governing man is always under discipline; 
and the more perfect the discipline, the higher will be 
his moral condition. He has to drill his desires, and 
keep them in subjection to the higher powers of his 
nature. They must obey the word of command of the 
internal monitor, the conscience—otherwise they will 
be but the mere slaves of their inclinations, the sport 
of feeling and impulse. 


474 


Supremacy of Self-control. 


“ In the supremacy of self-control, ” says Herbert 
Spencer, u consists one of the perfections of the ideal 
man. Not to be impulsive—not to be spurred hither 
and thither by each desire that in turn comes upper¬ 
most—but to be self-restrained, self-balanced, governed 
by the joint decision of the feelings in counsel assem¬ 
bled, before whom every action shall have been fully 
debated and calmly determined—that it is which edu¬ 
cation, moral education at least, strives to produce.” 

The first seminary of moral discipline, and the best, 
as we have already shown, is the home; next comes 
the school, and after that the world, the great school 
of practical life. Each is preparatory to the other, and 
what the man or woman becomes, depends for the 
most part upon what has gone before. If they have 
enjoyed the advantage of neither the home nor the 
school, but have been allowed to grow up untrained, 
untaught, and undisciplined, then woe to themselves— 
woe to the society of which they form a part. 

The best-regulated home is always that in which the 
discipline is the most perfect, and yet where it is the 
least felt. Moral discipline acts with the force of a 
law of nature. Those subject to it yield themselves to 
it unconsciously; and though it shapes and forms the 
whole character, until the life becomes crystalized in 
habit, the influence thus exercised is for the most part 
unseen and almost unfelt. 

Although the moral character depends in a great 
degree on temperament and on physical health, as well 
as on domestic and early training and the example of 
companions, it is also in the power of each individual 


The Virtue of Patience . 


475 


to regulate, to restrain and to discipline it by watchful 
and persevering self-control. A competent teacher has 
said of the propensities and habits, that they are as 
teachable as Latin and Greek, while they are much 
more essential to happiness. 

Dr. Johnson, though himself constitutionally prone 
to melancholy, and afflicted by it as few have been 
from his earliest years, said that “ a man’s being in a 
good or bad humor very much depends upon his will.” 
We may train ourselves in a habit of patience and 
contentment on the one hand, or of grumbling and dis¬ 
content on the other. We may accustom ourselves to 
exaggerate small evils, and to underestimate great 
blessings. We man even become the victim of petty 
miseries by giving way to them. Thus, we may edu¬ 
cate ourselves in a happy disposition, as well as in a 
morbid one. Indeed, the habit of viewing things 
cheerfully, and of thinking about life hopefulty, may be 
made to grow up in us like any other habit. It was 
not an exaggerated estimate of Dr. Johnson to say, 
that the habit of looking at the best side of any event 
is worth far more than a thousand pounds a year. 

If a man have not self-control, he will lack patience, 
be wanting in tact, and have neither the power of gov¬ 
erning himself nor of managing others. When the 
quality most needed in a prime minister was the sub¬ 
ject of conversation in the presence of Mr. Pitt, one of 
the speakers said it was “ eloquence; ” another said it 
was “knowledge;” and a third said it was “toil.” 
“ No,” said Pitt, it is “ patience! ” And patience means 
self-control, a quality in which he himself was superb. 


476 


Evils of Stro?ig Temper . 


His friend George Rose has said of him that he never 
once saw Pitt out of temper. Yet, although patience 
is usually regarded as a “ slow ” virtue, Pitt combined 
with it the most extraordinary readiness, vigor, and 
rapidity of thought as well as action. 

A strong temper is not necessarily a bad temper. 
But the stronger the temper, the greater is the need of 
self-discipline and self-control. Dr. Johnson says men 
grow better as they grow older, and improve with ex¬ 
perience; but this depends upon the width and depth 
and generousness of their nature. It is not men’s faults 
that ruin them so much as the manner in which they 
conduct themselves after the faults have been committed. 
The wise will profit by the suffering they cause, and 
eschew them for the future, but there are those on 
whom experience exerts no ripening influence, and who 
only grow narrower and bitterer, and more vicious 
with time. What is called strong temper in a young 
man, often indicates a large amount of unripe energy, 
which will expend itself in useful work if the road be 
fairly opened to it. It is said of Stephen Girard that 
when he heard of a clerk with a strong temper, he 
would readily take him into his employment, and set 
him to work in a room by himself, Girard being of opin¬ 
ion that such persons were the best workers, and that 
their energy would expend itself in work if removed 
from the temptation to quarrel. 

Strong temper may only mean a strong and excita¬ 
ble will. Uncontrolled, it displays itself in fitful out¬ 
breaks of passion; but controlled and held in subjection 
—like steam pent-up within the organized mechanism 


477 


Uses of Strong Temper. 

of a steam engine, the use of which is regulated and con¬ 
trolled by slide-valves, governors and levers—it may 
become a source of energetic power and usefulness. 
Hence some of the greatest characters in history have 
been men of strong temper, but of equally strong deter¬ 
mination to hold their motive power under strict regu¬ 
lation and control. 

C romwell also is described as having been of a way¬ 
ward and violent temper in his youth—cross, untracta- 
ble and masterless, with a vast quantity of youthful 
energy, which exploded in a variety of youthful mis¬ 
chiefs. He even obtained the reputation of a roysterer 
in his native town, and seemed to be rapidly going to 
the bad, when religion, in one of its most rigid forms, 
laid hold upon his strong nature, and subjected it to the 
iron discipline of calvanism. An entirely new direction 
was thus given to his energy of temperament, which 
forced an outlet for itself into public life, and eventually 
became the dominating influence in England for a 
period of nearly twenty years. 

The heroic princes of the house of Nassau were all 
distinguished for the same qualities of self-control, self 
denial, and determination of purpose. William the Si¬ 
lent was so called, not because he was a taciturn man, 
for he was an eloquent and powerful speaker where 
eloquence was necessary, but because he was a man 
who could hold his tongue when it was wisdom not to 
speak, and because he carefully kept his own counsel 
when to have revealed it might have been dangerous to 
the liberties of his country. He was so gentle and con¬ 
ciliatory in his manner that his enemies even described 


478 


Uses of Strong Temper. 


him as timid and pusillanimous. Vet, when the time 
for action came, his courage was heroic, his determina¬ 
tion unconquerable. “ The rock in the ocean,” says 
Mr. Motley, the historian of the Netherlands, “ tran¬ 
quil amid raging billows, was the favorite emblem by 
which his friends expressed their sense of his firmness.” 

Mr. Motley compares William the Silent to Wash¬ 
ington, whom he in many respects resembled. The 
American, like the Dutch patriot, stands out in history 
as the very impersonation of dignity, bravery, purity, 
and personal excellence. His command over his feel¬ 
ings, even in moments of great difficulty and danger, 
was such as to convey the impression, to those who did 
not know him intimately, that he was a man of inborn 
calmness and almost impassiveness of disposition. Yet 
Washington was by nature ardent and impetuous; his 
mildness, gentleness, politeness and consideration for 
others, were the result of rigid self-control and unwear¬ 
ied self discipline, which he diligently practiced even 
from his boyhood. His biographer says of him that 
“ his temperament was ardent, his passions strong, and, 
amidst the multiplied scenes of temptation and excite¬ 
ment through which he passed, it was his constant ef¬ 
fort, and ultimate triumph, to check the one and subdue 
the other.” And again: “ His passions were strong, 
and sometimes they broke out with vehemence, but he 
had the power of checking them in an instant. Perhaps 
self-control was the most remarkable trait of his char 
acter. It was in part the effect of discipline, yet he 
seems by nature to have possessed this power in a de¬ 
gree which has been denied to other men.” 


Power of Self-restraint. 


479 


The Duke of Wellington’s natural temper, like that 
of Napoleon, was irritable in the extreme, and it was 
only by watchful self-control that he was enabled to re¬ 
strain it. He studied calmness and coolness in the 
midst of danger, like an Indian chief. At Waterloo 
and elsewhere he gave his orders in the most critical 
moments without the slightest excitement, and in a tone 
of voice almost more than usually subdued. 

Wordsworth, the poet, was in his childhood “ of a 
stiff, moody and violent temper,” and “ perverse and 
obstinate in defying chastisement.” When experience 
of life had disciplined his temper, he learnt to exercise 
greater self-control; but, at the same time, the qualities 
which distinguished him as a child were afterwards use¬ 
ful in enabling him to defy the criticism of his enemies, 
nothing was more marked than Wordsworth’s self-re¬ 
spect and self-determination, as well as his self-con¬ 
sciousness of power, at all periods of his history. 

Henry Martyn, the missionary, was another instance 
of a man in whom strength of temper was only so much 
pent-up, unripe energy. As a boy he was impatient, 
petulant, and perverse; but by constant wrestling 
against his tendency to wrongheadedness, he gradually 
gained the requisite strength so as to entirely overcome 
it, and to acquire what he so greatly coveted—the gift 
of patience. 

A man may be feeble in organization, but, blessed 
with a happy temperament, his soul may be great, 
active, noble, and sovereign. Professor Tyndall has 
given us a fine picture of the character of Faraday, 
and of his self-denying labors in the cause of science— 


480 


Instances of Self-denial. 


exhibiting him as a man of strong, original, and even 
fiery nature, and yet of extreme tenderness and sensi¬ 
bility. “ Underneath his sweetness and gentleness,” 
he says, u was the heat of a volcano. He was a man 
of excitable and fiery nature; but through high self- 
discipline, he had converted the fire into a central glow 
and motive-power of life, instead of permitting it to 
waste itself in useless passion.” There was one fine 
feature in Faraday’s character which is worthy of 
notice—one closely akin to self control: it was his self- 
denial. By devoting himself to analytical chemistry, 
he might have speedily realized a large fortune; but 
he nobly resisted the temptation, and preferred to follow 
the path of pure science. “ Taking the duration of 
his life into account,” says Mr. Tyndall, “ this son of a 
blacksmith and apprentice to a book-binder had to 
decide between a fortune of $750,000 on the one side, 
and his undowered science on the other. He chose the 
latter, and died a poor man. But his was the glory of 
holding aloft among the nations the scientific name of 
England for a period of forty years.” 

Take a like instance of the self-denial of a French¬ 
man. The historian Anquetil was one of the small 
number of literary men in France who refused to bow 
to the Napoleonic yoke. He sank into great poverty, 
living on bread and milk, and limiting his expenditure 
to only three sous a day. “ I have still two sous a day 
left,” said he, “ for the conqueror of Marengo and 
Austerlitz.” “ But if you fall sick,” said a friend to 
him, u you will need the help of a pension. Why not 
do as others do? Pay court to the emperor—you have 


Outranks Self-denial. 


481 


need of him to live. 1 ’ “ I do not need him to die,” 
was the historian’s reply. But Anquetil did not die of 
poverty; he lived to the age of ninety-four, saying to a 
friend on the eve of his death, u Come, see a man who 
dies still full of life!” 

Sir James Outram exhibited the same characteristic 
of noble self-denial, though in an altogether different 
sphere of life. Like the great King Arthur, he was 
emphatically a man who “ forbore his own advantage.’* 
He was characterized throughout his whole career by 
his noble unselfishness. Though he might personally 
disapprove of the policy he was occasionally ordered 
to carry out, he never once faltered in the path of duty. 
Thus, he did not approve of the policy of invading 
Scinde; yet his services throughout the campaign were 
acknowledged by General Sir C. Napier to have been 
of the most brilliant character. But when the war 
was over, and the rich spoils of Scinde lay at the con¬ 
queror’s feet, Outram said; “I disapprove of the 
policy of this war—I will accept no share of the prize- 
money ! ” 

Not less marked was his gererous self-denial when 
dispatched with a strong force to aid Havelock in fight¬ 
ing his way to Lucknow. As superior officer, he was 
entitled to take upon himself the chief command; but, 
recognizing what Havelock had already done, with rare 
disinterestedness he left to his junior officer the glory 
of completing the campaign, offering to serve under 
him as a volunteer. “With such reputation,” said 
Lord Clyde, “ as Major-general Outram has won for 
himself, he can afford to share glory and honor with 
3i 




482 


Forbearance of Speech. 


others. But that does not lessen the value of the 
sacrifice he has made with such disinterested gen¬ 
erosity.” 

If a man would get through life honorably and peace¬ 
ably, he must necessarily learn to practice self-denial 
in small things as well as great. Men have to bear as 
well as forbear. The temper has to be held in subjec¬ 
tion to the judgment; and the little demons of ill-humor, 
petulance, and sarcasm, kept resolutely at a distance. 
If once they find an entrance to the mind, they are very 
apt to return, and to establish for themselves a perma¬ 
nent occupation there. 

It is necessary to one’s personal happiness, to exer¬ 
cise control over one’s words as well as acts: for there 
are words that strike even harder than blows; and 
men may “ speak daggers,” though they use none. 
The stinging repartee that rises to the lips, and which, 
if uttered, might cover an adversary with confusion, 
how difficult it sometimes is to resist saying it! “ Heaven 
keep us,” says Miss Bremer, in her “ Home,” from the 
destroying power of words! There are words which 
sever hearts more than sharp swords do; there are 
words the point of which sting the heart through the 
course of a whole life.” 

Thus character exhibits itself in self-control of speech 
as much as in anything else. The wise and forbearant 
man will restrain his desire to say a smart or severe 
thing at the expense of another’s feelings; while the 
fool blurts out what he thinks, and will sacrifice his 
friend rather than his joke. Even statesmen might be 
named, who have failed through their inability to resist 


483 


Self-control in Speech. 

the temptation ot saying clever and spiteful things at 
their adversary’s expense. “ The turn of a sentence,” 
says Bentham, u has decided the fate of many a friend¬ 
ship, and, for aught that we know, the fate of many a 
kingdom.” So, when one is tempted to write a clever 
but harsh thing, though it may be difficult to restrain 
it, it is always better to leave it in the inkstand. “ A 
.goose’s quill,” says the Spanish proverb, “ often hurts 
more than a lion’s claw.” 

Carlyle says, when speaking of Oliver Cromwell, 
“ He that can not withal keep his mind to himself, can 
not practice any considerable thing whatsoever.” It 
was said of William the Silent, by one of his greatest 
enemies, that an arrogant or indiscreet word was never 
known to fall from his lips. Like him, Washington 
was discretion itself in the use of speech, never taking 
advantage of an opponent, or seeking a short-lived 
triumph in a debate. And it is said that, in the long 
run, the world comes round to and supports the wise 
man who knows when and how to be silent. 

We have heard men of great experience say that 
they have often regretted having spoken, but never 
once regretted holding their tongue, “ Be silent,” says 
Pythagoras, “ or say something better than silence.” 
“ Speak fitly,” says George Herbert, “ or be silent 
wisely.” St. Francis de Sales, whom Leigh Hunt 
styled “ the Gentleman Saint,” has said: “ It is better 
to remain silent than to speak the truth ill-humoredly, 
and so spoil an excellent dish by covering it with bad 
sauce.” Another Frenchman, Lacordaire, character¬ 
istically puts speech first, and silence next. “ After 


484 The Expression of Indignation . 

speech,” he says, “ silence is the greatest power in the 
world.” Yet a word spoken in season, how powerful 
it may be! As the old Welch proverb has it, “A 
golden tongue is in the mouth of the blessed.” 

There are, of course, times and occasions when the 
expression of indignation is not only justifiable but 
necessary. We are bound to be indignant at falsehood, 
selfishness, and cruelty. A man of true feeling fires up 
naturally at baseness or meanness of any sort, even in 
cases where he may be under no obligation to speak 
out. “ I would have nothing to do,” said Perthes,. 
“ with the man who can not be moved to indignation. 
There are more good people than bad in the world, and 
the bad get the upper hand merely because they are 
bolder. We can not help being pleased with a man 
who uses his powers with decision; and we often take 
his side for no other reason than because he does so 
use them. No doubt, I have often repented speaking; 
but not less often have I repented keeping silence.” 

The best corrective of intolerance in disposition, is 
increase of wisdom and enlarged experience of life. 
Cultivated good sense will usually save men from the 
entanglements in which moral impatience is apt to in¬ 
volve them; good sense consisting chiefly in that tem¬ 
per of mind which enables its possessor to deal with 
the practical affairs of life with justice, judgment, dis¬ 
cretion, and charity. Hence men of culture and ex¬ 
perience are invariably found the most forbearant and 
tolerant, as ignorant and narrow-minded persons are 
found the most unforgiving, and intolerant. Men of 
large and generous natures, in proportion to their prac- 


Forbearance Towards Others . 


4 85 


tical wisdom, are disposed to make allowance for the 
defects and disadvantages of others—allowance for the 
controlling power of circumstances in the formation of 
character, and the limited power of resistance of weak 
and fallible natures to temptation and error. u I see no 
fault committed,” said Goethe, “ which I also might 
not have committed.” 

Life will always be, to a great extent, what we our¬ 
selves make it. The cheerful man makes a cheerful 
world, the gloomy man a gloomy one. We usually find 
but our own temperament reflected in the dispositions 
of those about us. If we are ourselves querulous, we 
will find them so; if we are unforgiving and uncharita¬ 
ble to them, they will be the same to us. A person re¬ 
turning from an evening party not long ago, com¬ 
plained to a policeman on his beat that an ill-looking 
fellow was following him; it turned out to be only his 
own shadow! And such usually is human life to each 
of us; it is, for the most part, but the reflection of our¬ 
selves. 

Many persons give themselves a great deal of fidget 
concerning what other people think of them and their 
peculiarities. Some are too much disposed to take the 
ill-natured side, and, judging by themselves, infer the 
worst. But it is very often the case that the unchari¬ 
tableness of others, where it really exists, is but the re¬ 
flection of our own want of charity and want of tem¬ 
per. It still oftener happens, that the worry we sub¬ 
ject ourselves to has its source in our own imagination. 
And even though those about us may think of us un¬ 
charitably, we shall not mend matters by exasperating 


486 Faraday's Practical Philosophy. 

ourselves against them. We may thereby only expose 
ourselves unnecessarily to their ill-nature or caprice. 
“ The ill that comes out of our mouth/’ says George 
Herbert, u oft-times falls into our bosom.” 

The great and good philosopher Faraday communi¬ 
cated the following piece of admirable advice, full of 
practical wisdom, the result of a rich experience of life,, 
in a letter to his friend, Professor Tyndall: “ Let me, 
as an old man, who ought by this time to have profited 
by experience, say that when I was younger I found I 
often misrepresented the intentions of people, and that 
they did not mean what at the time I supposed they 
meant; and further, that, as a general rule, it was better 
to be a little dull of apprehension where phrases seemed 
to imply pique, and quick in perception when, on the 
contrary, they seemed to imply kindly feeling. The 
real truth never fails ultimately to appear; and oppos¬ 
ing parties, if wrong, are sooner convinced when re* 
plied to forbearingly, than when overwhelmed. All I 
mean to say is that it is better to be blind to the re* 
suits of partisanship, and quick to see good-will. One 
has more happiness in one’s self in endeavoring to fol¬ 
low the things that make for peace. You can hardly 
imagine how often I have been heated in private when 
opposed, as I have thought, unjustly and superciliously, 
and yet I have striven, and succeeded, I hope, in keep¬ 
ing down replies of the like kind, and I know I have 
never lost by it.” 

While the painter Barry was at Rome, he involved 
himself, as was his wont, in furipus quarrels with the 
artists about picture-painting and picture-dealing, upon 


487 


The Tyranny of A ppelite. 

which his friend and countryman, Edmund Burke—al¬ 
ways the generous friend of struggling merit—wrote 
to him kindly and sensibly: u Believe me, dear Barry, 
that the arms with which the ill dispositions of the 
world are to be combated, and the qualities by which 
it is to be reconciled to us, and we reconciled to it, 
are moderation, gentleness, a little indulgence to others, 
and a great deal of distrust of ourselves, which are not 
qualities of a mean spirit, as some may possibly think 
them, but virtues of a great and noble kind, and such 
as dignify our nature as much as they contribute to 
our repose and fortune, for nothing can be so unwor¬ 
thy of a well-composed soul as to pass away life in 
bickerings and litigations—in snarling and scuffling 
with every one about us. We must be at peace with 
our species, if not for their sakes, at least very much 
for our own.” 

Were it possible to conceive the existence of a tyrant 
who should compel his people to give up to him one- 
third or more of their earnings, and require them at 
the same time to consume a commodity that should 
brutalize and degrade them, destroy the peace and com¬ 
fort of their families, and sow in themselves the seeds 
of disease and premature death—what indignation 
meetings, what monster processions, there would be! 
What eloquent speeches and apostrophes to the spirit 
of liberty!—what appeals against a despotism so mon¬ 
strous and so unnatural! And yet such a tyrant really 
exists among us—the tyrant of unrestrained appetite, 
whom no force of arms, or voices, or votes can resist, 
while men are willing to be his slaves. 


488 


Honest Living . 


The power of this tyrant can only be overcome by 
moral means—by self-discipline, self-respect and self- 
control. There is no other way of withstanding the 
despotism of appetite in any of its forms. No reform 
of institutions, no extended power of voting, no improved 
form of government, no amount of scholastic instruc¬ 
tion, can possibly elevate the character of a people who 
voluntarily abandon themselves to sensual indulgence. 
The pursuit of ignoble pleasure is the degradation of 
true happiness;- it saps the morals, destroys the energies, 
and degrades the manliness and robustness of individu¬ 
als as of nations. 

The courage of self-control exhibits itself in many 
ways, but in none more clearly than in honest living. 
Men without the virtue of self-denial are nob only sub¬ 
ject to their own selfish desires, but they are usually in 
bondage to others who are like-minded with themselves. 
What others do, they do. They must live according 
to the artificial standard of their class, spending like 
their neighbors, regardless of the consequences, at the 
same time that all are, perhaps, aspiring after a style of 
living higher than their means. Each carries the oth¬ 
ers along with him, and they have not the moral cour¬ 
age to stop. They cannot resist the temptation of liv¬ 
ing high, though it may be at the expense of others; 
and they gradually become reckless of debt, until it en¬ 
thralls them. In all this there is great moral cowardice, 
and want of manly independence of character. 

The honorable man is frugal of his means, and pays 
his way honestly. He does not seek to pass himself 
off as richer than he is, or, by running into debt, open 


“Putting Down in a Book" 489 

an account with ruin. As that man is not poor whose 
means are small but whose desires are under control, 
so that man is rich whose means are more than suffi¬ 
cient for his wants. When Socrates saw a great 
quantity of riches, jewels, and furniture of great value, 
carried in pomp through Athens, he said, “ Now do I 
see how many things I do not desire.” “ I can forgive 
every thing but selfishness,” said Perthes. “ Even the 
narrowest circumstances admit of greatness with refer¬ 
ence to 4 mine and thine; ’ and none but the very poor¬ 
est need fill their daily life with thoughts of money, if 
they have but prudence to arrange their housekeeping 
within the limits of their income.” 

A man may be indifferent to money because of 
higher considerations, as Faraday was, who sacrificed 
wealth to pursue science; but if he would have the 
enjoyments that money can purchase, he must honestly 
earn it, and not live upon the earnings of others, as 
those do who habitually incur debts which they have 
no means of paying. When Maginn, always drowned 
in debt, was asked what he paid for his wine, he replied 
that he did not know, but he believed they 44 put some¬ 
thing down in a book.” 

This 44 putting down in a book ” has proved the ruin 
of a great many weak-minded people, who cannot re¬ 
sist the temptation of taking things upon credit which 
they have not the present means of paying for; and it 
would probably prove of great social benefit if the law 
which enables creditors to recover debts contracted 
under certain circumstances were altogether abolished. 
But, in the competition for trade, every encouragement 


490 


Sir Walter Scoit . 


is given to the incurring of debt, the creditor relying 
upon the law to aid him in the last extremity. When 
Sydney Smith once went into a new neighborhood, it 
was given out in the local papers that he was a man of 
high connections, and he was besought on all sides for 
his “ custom.” But he speedily undeceived his new 
neighbors. “We are not great people at all,” he said: 
“We are only common honest people—people that pay 
our debts.” 

Sir Walter Scott was a man who was honest to the 
core of his nature; and his strenuous and determined 
efforts to pay his debts, or rather the debts of the firm 
with which he had become involved, has always ap¬ 
peared to us one of the grandest things in biography. 
When his publisher and printer broke down, ruin 
seemed to stare him in the face. There was no want 
of sympathy for him in his great misfortune, and friends 
came forward who offered to raise money enough to 
enable him to arrange with his creditors. “ No! ” said 
he, proudly; “this right hand shall work it all off! ” 
“ If we lose everything else,” he wrote to a friend, “we 
will at least keep our honor unblemished.” While his 
health was already becoming undermined by overwork, 
he went on “ writing like a tiger,” as he himself ex¬ 
pressed it, until no longer able to wield a pen; and 
though he paid the penalty of his supreme efforts with 
his life, he nevertheless saved his honor and his self- 
respect. In vain his doctors told him to give up work; 
he would not be dissuaded. “ As for bidding me not 
work,” he said to Dr. Abercrombie, “ Molly might just 
as well put the kettle on the fire and say, ‘ Now, kettle,, 


Sir Walter Scott. 


491 


don’t boil;’” to which he added, “If I were to be 
idle, I should go mad! ” 

By means of the profits realized by these tremen¬ 
dous efforts, Scott saw his debts in course of rapid 
diminution, and he trusted that, after a few more years’ 
work, he would again be a free man. But it was not 
to be. He went on turning out such works as his 
“ Count Robert of Paris ” with greatly impaired skill, 
until he was prostrated by another and severer attack 
of palsy. He now felt that the plough was nearing 
the end of the furrow; his physical strength was gone; 
he was “ not quite himself in all things,” and yet his 
courage * and perseverence never failed. “ I have 
suffered terribly,” he wrote in his Diary, “ though 
rather in body than in mind, and I often wish I could lie 
down and sleep without waking. But I 'will fight it 
out if lean!" 



CHAPTER XX. 



DUTY—TRUTHFULNESS. 

“ I slept, and dreamt that life was beauty ; 

I woke, and found that life was duty.’’ 

“ Be not simply good—be good for something.”—T horeau. 

The path of duty in this world is the road to salvation in the next.—J ewish 
Sage. 

UTY is a thing that is due, and must be paid 
by every man who would avoid present dis¬ 
credit and eventual moral insolvency. It is an 
obligation—a debt—which can only be dis¬ 
charged by voluntary effort and resolute action in the 
affairs of life. 

Duty embraces man’s whole existence. It begins in 
the home, where there is the duty which children owe 
to their parents on the one hand, and the duty which 
parents owe to their children on the other. There are, 
in like manner, the respective duties of husbands and 
wives, of masters and servants; while outside the home 
there are the duties which men and women owe to each 
other as friends and neighbors, as employers and em¬ 
ployed, as governors and governed. 

Duty is based upon a sense of j*ustice—justice in¬ 
spired by love, which is the most perfect form of good- 
nesSo Duty is not a sentiment, but a principle pervad- 





Conscience and Will. 493 

ing the life, and it exhibits itself in conduct and in acts, 
which are mainly determined by man’s conscience and 
free will. 

The voice of conscience speaks in duty done, and 
without its regulating and controlling influence, the 
brightest and greatest intellect may be merely as a 
light that leads astray. Conscience sets a man upon 
his feet, while his will holds him upright. Conscience 
is the moral governor of the heart—the governor of 
right action, of right thought, of right faith, of right 
life—and only through its dominating influence can the 
noble and upright character be fully developed. 

The conscience, however, may speak never so loudly, 
but without energetic will it may speak in vain. The 
will is free to choose between the right course and the 
wrong one, but the choice is nothing unless followed by 
immediate and decisive action. If the sense of duty be 
strong, and the course of action clear, the courageous 
will, upheld by the conscience, enables a man to pro¬ 
ceed on his course bravely, and to accomplish his pur¬ 
poses in the face of all opposition and difficulty. And 
should failure be the issue, there will remain at least 
this satisfaction, that it has been in the cause of duty. 

“ Be and continue poor, young man,” said Heinzel- 
mann, “ while others around you grow rich by fraud 
and disloyalty; be without place or power, while others 
beg their way upward; bear the pain of disappointed 
hopes, while others gain the accomplishment of theirs 
by flattery; forego the gracious pressure of the hand, 
for which others cringe and crawl. Wrap yourself in 
your own virtue, and seek a friend and your daily bread. 


494 


The Sense of Honor. 

If you have in your own cause grown gray with un¬ 
bleached honor, bless God and die!” 

When the Marquis of Pescara was entreated by the 
princes of Italy to desert the Spanish cause, to which 
he was in honor bound, his noble wife, reminded him 
of his duty. She wrote to him: “Remember your 
honor, which raises you above fortune and above kings; 
by that alone, and not by the splendor of titles, is glory 
acquired—that glory which it will be your happiness 
and pride to transmit unspotted to your posterity.” 
Such was the dignified view which she took of her hus¬ 
band’s honor; and when he fell at Pavia, though young 
and beautiful, and besought by many admirers, she 
betook herself to solitude, that she might lament over 
her husband’s loss and celebrate his exploits. 

To live really is to act energetically. Life is a bat¬ 
tle to be fought valiantly. Inspired by high and honor¬ 
able resolve, a man must stand to his post, and die 
there, if need be. Like the old Danish hero, his de¬ 
termination should be, “ to dare nobly, to will strongly, 
and never to falter in the path of duty.” The power 
of will, be it great or small, which God has given us, 
is a Divine gift; and we ought neither to let it perish 
for want of using, on the one hand, nor profane it by 
employing it for ignoble purposes, on the other. Rob¬ 
ertson, of Brighton, has truly said, that man’s real 
greatness consists not in seeking his own pleasure, or 
fame, or advancement—“ not that every one shall save 
his own life, not that every man shall seek his own 
glory—but that every man shall do his own duty.” 

What most stands in the way of the performance of 


Sacredness of Duty. 


495 


duty, is irresolution, weakness of purpose, and indecis¬ 
ion. On the one side are conscience and knowledge of 
good and evil; on the other are indolence, selfishness, 
love of pleasure, or passion. The weak and ill-disci¬ 
plined will may remain suspended for a time between 
these influences; but at length the balance inclines one 
way or the other, according as the will is called into 
action or otherwise. If it be allowed to remain passive, 
the lower influence of selfishness or passion will pre¬ 
vail; and thus manhood suffers abdication, individuality 
is renounced, character is degraded, and the man per¬ 
mits himself to become the mere passive slave of his 
senses. 

Thus, the power of exercising the will promptly, in 
obedience to the dictates of conscience, and thereby 
resisting the impulses of the lower nature, is of essential 
importance in moral discipline, and absolutely neces¬ 
sary for the development of character in its best forms. 
To acquire the habit of well-doing, to resist evil pro¬ 
pensities, to fight against sensual desires, to overcome 
inborn selfishness, may require a-long and persevering 
discipline; but when once the practice of duty is 
learned, it becomes consolidated in habit, and thence¬ 
forward is comparatively easy. 

The valiant good man is he who, by the resolute 
exercise of his free-will, has ’so disciplined himself as to 
have acquired the habit of virtue; as the bad man is 
he who, by allowing his free-will to remain inactive, 
and giving the bridle to his desires and passions, has 
acquired the habit of vice, by which he becomes, at 
last, bound as by chains of iron. 


496 Freedom of the Individual. 

A man can only achieve strength of purpose by the 
action of his own free-will. If he is to stand erect, it 
must be by his own efforts; for he can not be kept 
propped up by the help of others. He is master of 
himself and of his actions. He can avoid falsehood, 
and be truthful; he can shun sensualism, and be conti¬ 
nent; he can turn aside from doing a cruel thing, and 
be benevolent and forgiving. All these lie within the 
sphere of individual efforts, and come within the range 
of self-discipline. And it depends upon men themselves 
whether in these respects they will be free, pure, and 
good, on the one hand; or enslaved, impure, and mis¬ 
erable, on the other. 

The sense of duty is a sustaining power even to a 
courageous man. It holds him upright, and makes 
him strong. It was a noble saying of Pompey, when 
his friends tried to dissuade him from embarking for 
Rome in a storm, telling him that he did so at the great 
peril of his life: “It is necessary for me to go,” he said, 
“it is not necessary for me to live. 1 ’ What it was right 
that he should do, he would do, in the face of danger and 
in defiance of storms. 

“ Let men of all ranks,” said Plato, “ whether they 
are successful or unsuccessful, whether they triumph or 
not—let them do their duty, and rest satisfied.” What 
a lesson for future ages lies in these words! 

As might be expected of the great Washington, the 
chief motive power in his life was the spirit of duty. 
It was the regal and commanding element in his char¬ 
acter which gave it unity, compactness and vigor. 
When he clearly saw his duty before him, he did it at 


497 


Washington's Sense of Duty. 

all hazards, and with inflexible integrity. He did not 
do it for effect, nor did, he think of glory, or of fame 
and its rewards; but of the right thing to be done, and 
the best way of doing it. 

Yet Washington had a most modest opinion of him¬ 
self; and when offered the chief command of the Amer¬ 
ican patriot army, he hesitated to accept it until it was 
pressed upon him. When acknowledging in Congress 
the honor which had been done him in selecting him to 
so important a trust, on the execution of which the fu¬ 
ture of his country in a great measure depended, Wash¬ 
ington said: “ I beg it may be remembered, lest some 
unlucky event should happen unfavorable to my reputa¬ 
tion, that I this day declare, with the utmost sincerity, 
I do not think myself equal to the command I am hon¬ 
ored with.” And in his letter to his wife, communicat¬ 
ing to her his appointment as commander-in-chief, he 
said: “ I have used every endeavor in my power to 
avoid it, not only from my unwillingness to part with 
you and the family, but from the consciousness of its 
being a trust too great for my capacity, and that I 
should enjoy more real happiness in one month with 
you at home than I have the most distant prospect of 
finding abroad, if my stay were to be seven times seven 
years. But, as it has been a kind of destiny that has 
thrown me upon this service, I shall hope that my un¬ 
dertaking it is designed for some good purpose. It was 
utterly out of my power to refuse the appointment, 
without exposing my character to such censures as 
would have reflected dishonor upon myself, and given 
pain to my friends. This, I am sure, could not and 
32 


498 


Nelson's Ideal of Duly. 


ought not to be pleasing to you, and must have lessened 
me considerably in my own esteem.” 

Washington pursued his upright course through life, 
first as commander-in-chief, and afterwards as president, 
never faltering in the path of duty. He had no regard 
for popularity, but held to his purpose through good 
and through evil report, often at the risk of his power 
and influence. Thus, on one occasion, when the ratifi¬ 
cation of a treaty, arranged by Mr. Jay with Great 
Britain, was in question, Washington was urged to re¬ 
ject it. But his honor, and the honor of his country, 
was committed, and he refused to do so. A great out¬ 
cry was raised against the treaty, and fora time Wash¬ 
ington was so unpopular that he is said to have been 
actually stoned by the mob. But he nevertheless held 
it to be his duty to ratify the treaty; and it was carried 
out in despite of petitions and remonstrances from all 
quarters. “ While I feel,” he said in answer to the re¬ 
monstrance, “ the most lively gratitude for the many in 
stances of approbation from my country, I can no oth¬ 
erwise deserve it than by obeying the dictates of my 
conscience.” 

Duty was the dominant idea in Nelson’s mind. The 
spirit in which he served his country was expressed in 
the famous watch-word, “ England expects every man 
to do his duty,” signalled by him to the fleet before going 
into action at Trafalgar, as well as in the last words 
that passed his lips—“ I have done my duty; I praise 
God for it!” And Nelson’s companion and friend— 
the brave, sensible, homely-minded Collingwood—he 
who, as his ship bore down into the great sea fight, 


National Sense of Duty . 499 

said to his flag-captain, “Just about this time our wives 
are going to church in England ”—Collingwood too 
was, like his commander, an ardent devotee of duty. 
*“ Do your duty to the best of your ability,” was the 
maxim which he urged upon many young men starting 
on the voyage of life. To a midshipman he once gave 
the following manly and sensible advice: 

“ You may depend upon it, that it is more in your 
own power than in anybody else’s to promote both 
your comfort and advancement. A strict and unwea¬ 
ried attention to your duty, and a complacent and re¬ 
spectful behavior, not only to your superiors but to 
everybody, will insure you their regard, and the re¬ 
ward will surely come; but if it should not, I am con¬ 
vinced you have too much good sense to let disappoint¬ 
ment sour you. Guard carefully against letting discon¬ 
tent appear in you. It will be sorrow to your friends, a 
triumph to your competitors, and can not be productive 
of any good. Conduct yourself so as to deserve the 
best that can come to you, and the consciousness of 
your own proper behavior will keep you in spirits if it 
should not come. Let it be your ambition to be fore¬ 
most in all duty. Do not be a nice observer of turns, 
but ever present yourself ready for everything, and, 
unless your officers are very inattentive men, they will 
not allow others to impose more duty on you than they 
should.” 

It is a grand thing, after all, this pervading spirit of 
Duty in a nation; and so long as it survives, no one need 
despair of its future. But when it has departed, or 
become deadened, and been supplanted by thirst 


500 Duty and Truthfulness. 

for pleasure, or selfish aggrandizement, or “ glory ”— 
then woe to that nation, for its dissolution is near at 
hand! 

Duty is closely allied to truthfulness of character; 
and the dutiful man is, above all things, truthful in his 
words as in his actions. He says and he does the 
right thing in the right way, and at the right time. 

There is probably no saying of Lord Chesterfield 
that commends itself more strongly to the approval of 
manly-minded men, than that it is truth that makes the 
success of the gentleman. Clarendon, speaking of one 
of the noblest and purest gentlemen of his age, says of 
Falkland, that he “was so severe an adorer of truth, 
that he could as easily have given himself leave to 
steal as to dissemble.” 

It was one of the finest things that Mrs. Hutchinson 
could say of her husband, that he was a thoroughly 
truthful and reliable man: “He never professed the 
thing he intended not, nor promised what he believed 
out of his power, nor failed in the performance of any 
thing that was in his power to fulfill.” 

Wellington was a severe admirer of truth. An illus¬ 
tration may be given. When afflicted by deafness, he 
consulted a celebrated aurist, who, after trying all 
remedies in vain, determined, as a last resource, to 
eject into the ear a strong solution of caustic. It 
caused the most intense pain, but the patient bore it 
with his usual equanimity. The family physician acci¬ 
dentally calling one day, found the duke with flushed 
cheeks and blood-shot eyes, and when he rose he stag¬ 
gered about like a drunken man. The doctor asked to 


Resistance to Falsehood. 


501 


be permitted to look at his ear, and then he found that 
a furious inflammation was going on, which, if not im¬ 
mediately checked, must shortly reach the brain and 
kill him. Vigorous remedies were at once applied, 
and the inflammation was checked. But the hearing 
of that ear was completely destroyed. When the 
aurist heard of the danger his patient had run, through 
the violence of the remedy he had employed, he 
hastened to Apsley House to express his grief and 
mortification; but the duke merely said: “ Do not say 
a word more about it—you did all for the best.” The 
aurist said it would be his ruin when it became known 
that he had been the cause of so much suffering and 
danger to his grace. “ But nobody need know any 
thing about it; keep your own counsel, and, depend 
upon it, I won’t say a word to any one.” “ Then, 
your grace will allow me to attend you as usual, which 
will show the public that you have not withdrawn your 
confidence from me?” “No,” replied the duke, 
kindly but firmly; “ I can’t do that, for that would be a 
lie.” He would not act a falsehood any more than he 
would speak one. 

Another illustration of duty and truthfulness, as ex¬ 
hibited in the fulfillment of a promise, may be added 
from the life of Blucher. When he was hastening with 
his army over bad roads to the help of Wellington, on 
the 18th of June, 1815, he encouraged his troops by 
words and gestures. “Forward, children—forward!” 
“It is impossible; it can’t be done,” was the answer. 
Again and again he urged them. “ Children, we must 
get on; you may say it can’t be done, but it must be 


502 


Truth the Bond of Society. 


done! I have promised my brother Wellington— prom¬ 
ised , do you hear? You wouldn’t have me break my 
word! ” And it was done. 

Truth is the very bond of society, without which it 
must cease to exist, and dissolve into anarchy and chaos. 
A household can not be governed by lying; nor can a 
nation. Sir Thomas Browne once asked, “ Do the 
devils lie?” u No,” was his answer; “for then even 
hell could not subsist.” No consideration can justify 
the sacrifice of truth, which ought to be sovereign in 
all the relations of life. Of all mean vices, perhaps 
lying is the meanest. It is in some cases the offspring 
of perversity and vice, and in many others of sheer 
moral cowardice. Yet many persons think so lightly 
of it that they will order their servants to lie for them; 
nor can they feel surprised if, after such ignoble in¬ 
struction, they find their servants lying for themselves. 

When Pitt was in his last illness, the news reached 
England of the great deeds of Wellington in India. 
“ The more I hear of his exploits,” said Pitt, “ the more 
I admire the modesty with which he receives the praises 
he merits for them. He is the only man I ever knew 
that was not vain of what he had done, and yet had so 
much reason to be so.” 

So it is said of Faraday by Professor Tyndall, that 
“ pretense of all kinds, whether in life or in philosophy, 
was hateful to him.” Dr. Marshall Hall was a man of 
like spirit—courageously truthful, dutiful, and manly. 
One of his most intimate friends has said of him that, 
wherever he met with untruthfulness or sinister motive, 
he would expose it, saying, u I neither will, nor can, 


503 


Virtue of Truthfulness. 

give my consent to a lie.” The question, “ right or 
wrong,” once decided in his own mind, the right was 
followed, no matter what the sacrifice or the difficulty 
—neither expediency nor inclination weighing one jot 
in the balance. 

There was no virtue that Dr. Arnold labored more 
sedulously to instill into young men than the virtue of 
truthfulness, as being the manliest of virtues, as indeed 
the very basis of all true manliness. He designated 
truthfulness as “ moral transparency,” and he valued it 
more highly than any other quality. When lying was 
detected, he treated it as a great moral offense; but 
when a pupil made an assertion, he accepted it with 
confidence. “If you say so, that is quite enough; of 
course I believe your word.” By thus trusting and be¬ 
lieving them, he educated the young in truthfulness; 
the boys at length coming to say to one another: 
“ Its a shame to tell Arnold a lie—he always believes 
one.” 

One of the most striking instances that could be 
given of the character of the dutiful, truthful, laborious 
man, is presented in the life of the late George Wilson, 
professor of Technology in the University of Edinburgh. 
Though we bring this illustration under the head of 
Duty, it might equally have stood under that of Cour¬ 
age, Cheerfulness, or Industry; for it is alike illustra¬ 
tive of these several qualities. 

Wilson’s life was, indeed, a marvel of cheerful labor¬ 
iousness, exhibiting the power of the soul to triumph 
over the body, and almost to set it at defiance. It 
might be taken as an illustration of the saying of the 


bU4 Life of George Wilson. 

whaling captain to Dr. Kane, as to the power of moral 
force over physical: “ Bless you, sir, the soul will any 
day lift the body out of its boots!” 

A fragile but bright and lively boy, he had scarcely 
entered manhood ere his constitution began to exhibit 
signs of disease. As early, indeed, as his seventeenth 
year, he began to complain of melancholy and sleepless¬ 
ness, supposed to be the effect of bile. “ I don’t think 
I shall live long,” he then said to a friend; “ my mind 
will—must work itself out, and the body will soon fol¬ 
low it.” A strange confession for a boy to make! But 
he gave his physical health no fair chance. His life was 
all brain-work, study, and competition. When he took 
exercise it was in sudden bursts, which did him more 
harm than good. Long walks in the Highlands jaded 
and exhausted him, and he returned to his brain-work 
unrested and unrefreshed. 

It was during one of his forced walks of some twen¬ 
ty-four miles in the neighborhood of Stirling that he in¬ 
jured one of his feet, and he returned home seriously 
ill. The result was an abscess, disease of the ankle- 
joint, and long agony, which ended in the amputation 
of the right foot. But he nA-er relaxed in his labors. 
He was now writing, lecturing and teaching chemistry. 
Rheumatism and acute inflamation of the eye next at¬ 
tacked him, and were treated by cupping and blister¬ 
ing. Unable himself to write, he went on preparing 
his lectures, which he dictated to his sister. Pain haunt¬ 
ed him day and night, and sleep was only forced by 
morphia. While in this state of general prostration, 
symptoms of pulmonary disease began to show them- 


His Unwearying Industry . 505 

selves. Yet he continued to give the weekly lectures 
to which he stood committed to the Edinburgh school 
of Arts. Not one was shirked, though their delivery 
before a large audience was a most exhausting duty. 
“ Well, there’s another nail put into my coffin,” was 
the remark made on throwing off his over-coat on re¬ 
turning home; and a sleepless-night almost invariably 
followed. 

At twenty-seven, Wilson was lecturing ten, eleven, 
or more hours weekly, usually with setons or open blis¬ 
ter-wounds upon h-im—his “ bosom friends,” he used to 
call them. He felt the shadow of death upon him, and 
he worked as if his days were numbered. “ Don’t be 
surprised,” he wrote to a friend, “ if any morning at 
breakfast you hear that I am gone.” But while he said 
so, he did not in the least degree indulge in the feeling 
of sickly sentimentality. He worked on as cheerfully and 
hopefully as if in the very fullness of his strength. “To 
none,” said he, “ is life so sweet as to those who have 
lost all fear to die.” 

Sometimes he was compelled to desist from his la¬ 
bors by sheer debility, occasioned by loss of blood from 
the lungs; but after a few weeks’ rest and change of 
air, he would return to his work, saying: “ The water 
is rising in the well again!” Though disease had fast¬ 
ened on his lungs, and was spreading there, and though 
suffering from a distressing cough, he went on lecturing 
as usual. To add to his troubles, when one day en¬ 
deavoring to recover himself from a stumble occasioned 
by his lameness, he overstrained his arm, and broke the 


506 


Wilsoris Failing Health . 


bone near the shoulder. But he recovered from his 
successive accidents and illnesses in the most extraordi¬ 
nary way. The reed bent, but did not break; the storm 
passed, and it stood erect as before. 

There was no worry or fever nor fret about him; 
but instead, cheerfulness, patience, and unfailing perse¬ 
verance. His mind, amidst all his sufferings, remained 
perfectly calm and serene. He went about his daily 
work with an apparently charmed life, as if he had the 
strength of many men in him. Yet all the while he 
knew he was dying, his chief anxiet}^ being to conceal 
his state from those about him at home, to whom the 
knowledge of his actual condition would have been in¬ 
expressibly distressing. “I am cheerful among strang¬ 
ers,” he said, “ and try to live day by day as a dying 
man.” 

He went on teaching as before—lecturing to the Ar¬ 
chitectural Institute and to the School of Arts. One 
day, after a lecture before the latter institute, he lay 
down to rest, and was shortly awakened by the rupture 
of a blood-vessel, which occasioned him the loss of a 
considerable quantity of blood. He appeared at the 
family meals as usual, and next day he lectured twice, 
punctually fulfilling his engagements; but the exertion 
of speaking was followed by a second attack of hem¬ 
orrhage. He now became seriously ill, and it was 
doubted whether he would survive the night. But he 
did survive; and during his convalescence he was ap¬ 
pointed to an important public office—that of Director 
of the Scottish Industrial Museum, which involved a 


His Perseverance to the End . 507 

great amount of labor, as well as lecturing, in his ca¬ 
pacity of professor of technology, which he held in con¬ 
nection with the office. 

From this time forward, his “dear museum/’ as he 
called it, absorbed all his surplus energies. While busily 
occupied in collecting models and specimens for the 
museum, he filled up his odds-and-ends of time in lec¬ 
turing to Ragged Schools, Ragged Kirks, and Medical 
Missionary Societies. He gave himself no rest, either 
of mind or body; and to “die working ” was the fate 
he envied. His mind would not give in, but his poor 
body was forced to yield, and a severe attack of hem¬ 
orrhage—bleeding from both lungs and stomach—com¬ 
pelled him to relax his labors. “For a month, or 
some forty days,” he wrote—“ a dreadful Lent—the 
wind has blown geographically from ‘ Araby the blest/ 
but thermometrically from Iceland the accursed. I 
have been made a prisoner of war, hit by an icicle in 
the lungs, and have shivered and burned alternately 
for a large portion of the last month, and spit blood 
till I grew pale with coughing. Now I am better, 
and to-morrow I give my concluding lecture, thankful 
that I have contrived, notwithstanding all my troubles, 
to carry on without missing a lecture to the last day of 
the Faculty of Arts, to which I belong.” 

Flow long was it to last ? He himself began to won¬ 
der, for he had long felt his life as if ebbing away. At 
length he became languid, weary, and unfit for work; 
even the writing of a letter cost him a painful effort, 
and he felt “ as if to lie down and sleep were the only 
things worth doing/’ Yet shortly after, to help a Sun- 


508 Wilson''s Love of Work and Duty. 

day-school, he wrote his “ Five Gateways of Knowl¬ 
edge, 11 as a lecture, and afteawards expanded it into a 
book. He also recovered strength sufficient to enable 
him to proceed with his lectures to the institutions to 
which he belonged, besides on various occasions under¬ 
taking to do other people’s work. “ I am looked upon 
as good as mad,” he wrote to his brother, “ because, on 
a hasty notice, I took a defaulting lecturer’s place at the 
Philosophical Institution, and discoursed on the polari¬ 
zation of light. * * * But j iik e work; it is a 

family weakness. 

Then followed sleepless nights, days of pain, and 
more spitting of blood. “ My only painless moments,” 
he says, “ were when lecturing.” In this state of 
prostration and disease, the indefatigable man under¬ 
took to write the “Life of Edward Forbes; ” and he 
did it, like every thing he undertook, with admirable 
ability. He proceeded with his lectures as usual. To 
an association of teachers he delivered a discourse on 
the educational value of industrial science. After he 
had spoken to his audience for an hour, he left them to 
say whether he should go on or not, and they cheered 
him on to another half-hour’s address. “ It is curious,” 
he wrote, “ the feeling of having an audience, like clay 
in your hands, to mould for a season as you please. It 
is a terribly responsible power. * * * I do not 

mean for a moment to imply that I am indifferent to 
the good opinion of others—far otherwise; but to 
gain this is much less a concern with me than to de¬ 
serve it. It was not so once. I had no wish for un¬ 
merited praise, but I was too ready to settle that I did 


His Last Illness and Death. 


501 ) 


merit it. Now, the word Duty seems to me the big¬ 
gest word in the world, and is uppermost in all my 
serious doings.” 

This was written only about four months before his 
death. A little later he wrote: “I spin my thread of 
life from week to week, rather than from year to year.” 
Constant attacks of bleeding from the lungs sapped his 
little remaining strength, but did not altogether disable 
him from lecturing. He was amused by one of his 
friends proposing to put him under trustees for the pur¬ 
pose of looking after his health. But he would not be 
restrained from working, so long as a vestige of strength 
remained. 

One day, in the autumn of 1859 , returned from 
his customary lecture in the University of Edinburgh 
with a severe pain in his side. He was scarcely able 
to crawl up stairs. Medical aid was sent for. and he 
was pronounced to be suffering from pleurisy and in¬ 
flammation of the lungs. His enfeebled frame was un¬ 
able to resist so severe a disease, and he sank peace¬ 
fully to the rest he so longed for, after a few days’ 
illness: 

“Wrong not the dead with tears ! 

A glorious bright to-morrow 
Endeth a weary life of pain and sorrow.’* 




CHAPTER XXL 


TEMPER. 

“ Heaven is a temper, not a place.”— Dr Chalmers. 

“Temper is nine-tenths of Christianity.”— Bishop Wilson. 

“ Even Power itself hath not one-half the might of gentleness.”— Hunt. 

T has been said that men succeed in life quite 
as much by their temper as by their talents. 
However this maybe, it is certain that their hap : 
piness in life depends mainly upon their equani¬ 
mity of disposition, their patience and forbearance, and 
their kindness and thoughtfulness for those about them. 
It is really true what Plato says, that in seeking the 
good of others we find our own. 

There are some natures so happily constituted that 
they can find good in every thing. There is no calamity 
so great but they can educe comfort or consolation 
from it—no sky so black but they can discover a gleam 
of sunshine issuing through it from some quarter or an¬ 
other; and if the sun be not visible to their eyes, they 
at least comfort themselves with the thought that it is 
there, though veiled from them for some good and wise 
purpose. 

Such happy natures are to be envied. They have a 
beam in the eye—a beam of pleasure, gladness, relig¬ 
ious cheerfulness, philosophy, call it what you will. 





Cheerfulness of Nature. 511 

Sunshine is about their hearts, and their mind gilds 
with its own hues all that it looks upon. When they 
have burdens to bear, they bear them cheerfully—not 
x repining, nor fretting, nor wasting their energies in use¬ 
less lamentations, but struggling onward manfully, 
gathering up such flowers as lie along their path. 

Let it not for a moment be supposed that men such 
as those we speak of are weak and unreflective. The 
largest and most comprehensive natures are generally 
also the most cheerful, the most loving, the most hope¬ 
ful, the most trustful. It is the wise man, of large 
vision, who is the quickest to discern the moral sun 
shine gleaming through the darkest cloud. In present 
evil, he sees prospective good; in pain, he recognizes 
the effort of nature to restore health; in trials, he 
finds correction and discipline; and in sorrow and suf¬ 
fering, he gathers courage, knowledge, and the best 
practical wisdom. 

When Jeremy Taylor had lost all—when his house 
had been plundered, and his family driven out of doors, 
and all his worldly estate had been sequestrated—he 
could still write thus: “I am fallen into the hands of 
publicans and sequestrators, and they have taken all 
from me; what now? Let me look about me. They 
have left me the sun and moon, a loving wife, and 
many friends to pity me, and some to relieve me; and 
I can still discourse, and, unless I list, they have 
not taken away my merry countenance and my cheer¬ 
ful spirit, and a good conscience; they have still left 
me the providence of God, and all the promises of the 
Gospel, and my religion, and my hopes of heaven, 


512 


Uses of Cheerfulness . 


and my charity to them, too; and still I sleep and 
digest, I eat and drink, I read and meditate * * * 
And he that hath so many causes of joy, and so great, 
is very much in love with sorrow and peevishness 
who loves all these pleasures, and chooses to sit dowr 
upon his little handful of thorns.” 

Although cheerfulness of disposition is very much a 
matter of inborn temperament, it is also capable of be¬ 
ing trained and cultivated like any other habit. We 
may make the best of life, or we may make the worst 
of it; and it depends very much upon ourselves whether 
we extract joy or misery from it. There are always 
two sides of life on which we can look, according as 
we choose—the bright side or the gloomy. We can 
bring the power of the will to bear in making the 
choice, and thus cultivate the habit of being happy or 
the reverse. We can encourage the disposition of look¬ 
ing at the brightest side of things, instead of the dark¬ 
est. And while we see the cloud, let us not shut our 
eyes to the silver lining 

The beam in the eye sheds brightness, beauty, and 
joy upon life in all its phases. It shines upon coldness, 
and warms it; upon suffering, and comforts it; upon 
ignorance, and enlightens it; upon sorrow and cheers 
it. The beam in the eye gives lustre to intellect, and 
brightens beauty itself. Without it the sunshine of 
life is not felt, flowers bloom in vain, the marvels of 
heaven and earth are not seen or acknowledged, and 
creation is but a dreary, lifeless, soulless blank. 

While cheerfulness of disposition is a great source 
of enjoyment in life, it is also a great safeguard of char- 



IK) CO) P If, /a\ N i 


U 




FOR' HAPPY HOMFS." 









Cheerfulness a Tonic. 


513 


acter. A devotional writer of the present day, in 
answer to the question; How are we to overcome temp¬ 
tations? says: “Cheerfulness is the first thing, cheer¬ 
fulness is the second, and cheerfulness is the third.” It 
furnishes the best soil for the growth of goodness and 
virtue. It gives brightness of heart and elasticity of 
spirit. It is the companion of charity, the nurse of 
patience, the mother of wisdom. It is also the best of 
moral and mental tonics. “ The best cordial of all,” 
said Dr. Marshall Hall to one of his patients, u is cheer¬ 
fulness.” And Solomon has said that “ a merry heart 
doeth good like a medicine.” 

When Luther was once applied to for a remedy 
against melancholy, his advice was: “ Gayety and 
courage—innocent gayety, and rational, honorable cour¬ 
age—are the best medicine for young men, and for old 
men too; for all men against sad thoughts.” Next to 
music, if not before it, Luther loved children and flowers. 
The great gnarled man had a heart as tender as a wo¬ 
man’s. 

Cheerfulness is also an excellent wearing quality. It 
has been called the bright weather of the heart. It 
gives harmony of soul, and is a perpetual song without 
words. It is tantamount to repose. It enables nature 
to recruit its strength; whereas worry and discontent 
debilitate it, involving constant wear-and-tear. 

How is it that we see such men as Lord Palmerston 
growing old in harness, working on vigorously to the 
end? Mainly through equanimity of temper and ha¬ 
bitual cheerfulness. They have educated themselves 
in the habit of endurance, of not being easily provoked, 


514 


Great Men Cheerful. 


of bearing and forbearing, of hearing harsh and even 
unjust things said of them without indulging in undue 
resentment, and avoiding worrying, petty, and self-tor¬ 
menting cares. An intimate friend of Lord Palmer¬ 
ston, who observed him closely for twenty years, has 
said that he never saw him angry, with perhaps one 
exception; and that was when the Ministry, responsible 
for the calamity in Afghanistan, of which he was one, 
were unjustly accused by their opponents of falsehood, 
perjury, and willful mutilation of public documents. 

So far as can be learned from biography, men of the 
greatest genius have been for the most part cheerful, 
contented men—not eager for reputation, money, or 
power—but relishing life, and keenly susceptible of en¬ 
joyment, as we find reflected in their works. Such 
seem to have been Plomer, Horace, Virgil, Montaigne, 
Shakspeare, Cervantes. Healthy, serene cheerfulness is 
apparent in their great creations. Among the same 
class of cheerful-minded men may also be mentioned 
Luther, Moore, Bacon, Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, 
and Michael Angelo. Perhaps they were happy because 
constantly occupied, and in the pleasantest of all work—- 
that of creating out of the fulness and richness of their 
great minds. 

Milton, too, though a man of many trials and suffer¬ 
ings, must have been a man of great cheerfulness and 
elacticity of nature. Though overtaken by blindness, 
deserted by friends, and fallen upon evil days—“ dark¬ 
ness before, and danger’s voice behind ”—yet did he not 
bate heart or hope, but “ still bore up, and steered right 
onward.” Henry Fielding was a man borne down 


515 


Instances of Cheerful Men. 

through life by debt, and difficulty and bodily suffer¬ 
ings; and yet Lady Mary Wortley Montague has said 
of him that, by virtue of his cheerful disposition, she 
was persuaded he “ had known more happy moments 
than any other person on earth.” 

Johnson was of opinion that a man grew better as 
he grew older, and that his nature mellowed with age. 
This is certainly a much more cheerful view of human 
nature than that of Lord Chesterfield, who saw life 
through the eyes of a cynic, and held that u the heart 
never grows better by age, it only grows harder.” But 
both sayings may be true, according to the point from 
which life is viewed and the temper by which a man 
is governed; for while the good, profiting by experience, 
and disciplining themselves by self-control, will grow bet¬ 
ter, the ill-conditioned, uninfluenced by experience, will 
only grow worse. 

Sir Walter Scott was a man full of the milk of hu¬ 
man kindness. Every body loved him. He was never 
five minutes in a room ere the little pets of the family, 
whether dumb or lisping, had found out his kindness 
for all their generation. Scott related to Captain Hall 
an incident of his boyhood which showed the tender¬ 
ness of his nature. One day, a dog coming towards 
him, he took up a big stone, threw it, and hit the dog. 
The poor creature had strength enough left to crawl up 
to him and lick his feet, although he saw its leg was 
broken. The incident, he said, had given him the bit¬ 
terest remorse in his after-life; but he added, “an early 
circumstance of that kind, properly reflected on, is calcu¬ 
lated to have the best effect on one’s character through¬ 
out life.” 


516 Dr. Arnold—Sydney Smith. 

“ Give me an honest laugher,” Scott would say; and 
he himself laughed the heart’s laugh. He had a kind 
word for everybody, and his kindness acted all round 
him like a contagion, dispelling the reserve and awe 
which his great name was calculated to inspire. “ He’ll 
come here,” said the keeper of the ruins of Melrose 
Abbey to Washington Irving—“ he’ll come here some- 
times, wi’ great folks in his company, and the first I’ll 
know of it is hearing his voice calling out, ‘Johnny! 
Johnny Bower!’ and when I go out lam sure to be 
greeted wi’ a joke or a pleasant word. He’ll stand and 
crack and laugh wi’ me just like an auld wife; and to 
think that of a man that has such an aw/rf knowledge 
o 1 history !” 

Dr. Arnold was a man of the same hearty cordiality 
of manner—full of human sympathy. There was not 
a particle of affectation or pretense of condescension 
about him. “ I never knew such a humble man as the 
doctor,” said the parish clerk at Laleham; “he comes, 
and shakes us by the hand as if he was one of us.” 
“ He used to come into my house,” said an old woman 
near Fox How, “ and talk to me as if I were a lady.” 

Sidney Smith was another illustration of the power 
of cheerfulness. He was ever ready to look on the 
bright side of things; the darkest cloud had to him its 
silver lining. Whether working as country curate or 
as parish rector, he was always kind-, laborious, patient 
and exemplary, exhibiting in every sphere of life the 
spirit of a Christian, the kindness of a pastor, and the 
honor of a gentleman. In his leisure he employed his 
pen on the side of justice, freedom, education, tolera- 


Cheerfulness of Men of Genius. 517 

tion, emancipation; and his writings, though full of com¬ 
mon sense and bright humor, are never vulgar; nor did 
he ever pander to popularity or prejudice. His good 
spirits, thanks to his natural vivacity and stamina of 
constitution, never forsook him; and in his old age, when 
borne down by disease, he wrote to a friend; u I have 
gout, asthma, and seven other maladies, but am other¬ 
wise very well.’’ In one of the last letters he wrote to 
Lady Carlisle, he wrote: u If you hear of sixteen or 
eighteen pounds of flesh wanting an owner, they belong 
to me. I look as if a curate had been taken out of me.” 

One of the sorest trials of a man’s temper and pa¬ 
tience was that which befell Abauzit, the natural philos¬ 
opher, while residing at Geneva—resembling in many 
respects a similar calamity which occurred to Newton, 
and which he bore with equal resignation. Among 
other things, Abauzit devoted much study to the barom¬ 
eter and its variations, with the object of deducing the 
general laws which regulated atmospheric pressure. 
During twenty-seven years he made numerous observa¬ 
tions daily, recording them on sheets prepared for the 
purpose. One day, when a new servant was installed 
in the house, she immediately proceeded to display her 
zeal by “ putting things to rights.” Abauzit’s study, 
among other rooms, was made tidy and set in order. 
When he entered it, he asked of the servant, “ What 
have you done with the paper that was round the bar¬ 
ometer? ” “ Oh, sir,” was the reply, “ it was so dirty 

that I burned it, and put in its place this paper, which 
you will see is quite new.” Abauzit crossed his arms, 
and after some moments of internal struggle, he said, 


518 


Cheerful Workers. 


in a tone of calmness and resignation: “You have 
destroyed the results of twenty-seven years labor; in 
future touch nothing whatever in this room.” 

The study of natural history, more than that of any 
other branch of science, seems to be accompanied by 
unusual cheerfulness and equanimity of temper on the 
part of its votaries; the result of which is, that the life 
of naturalists is, on the whole, more prolonged than 
that of any other class of men of science. A member 
of the Linnsean Society has informed us that, of four¬ 
teen members who died in 1870 , two were over ninety, 
five were over eighty, and two were over seventy. The 
average of all the members who died in that year was 
seventy-five. 

All large, healthy natures are cheerful as well as 
hopeful. Their example is also contagious and diffusive, 
brightening and cheering all who come within reach 
of their influence. It was said of Sir John Malcolm, 
when he appeared in a saddened camp in India, that 
“ it was like a gleam of sunlight, * * * no man 

left him without a smile on his face. He was 4 boy 
Malcolm ’ still. It was impossible to resist the fascina¬ 
tion of his genial presence.” 

The true basis of cheerfulness is love, hope, and pa¬ 
tience. Love evokes love, and begets loving-kindness. 
Love cherishes hopeful and generous thoughts of others. 
It is charitable, gentle, and truthful. It is a discerner 
of good. It turns to the brightest side of things, and 
its face is ever directed towards happiness. It sees 44 the 
glory in the grass, the sunshine on the flower.” It en¬ 
courages happy thoughts, and live< in an atmosphere 


Beneficence and Bejievolence. 519 

of cheerfulness. It costs nothing, and yet is invaluable; 
for it blesses its possessor, and grows up in abundant 
happiness in the bosoms of others. Even its sorrows 
are linked with pleasures, and its very tears are sweet. 
Bentham lays it *down as a principle, that a man be¬ 
comes rich in his own stock of pleasures in proportion 
to the amount he distributes to others. His kindness 
will evoke kindness, and his happiness be increased by 
his own benevolence. “ Kind words,' 5 he says, “ cost 
no more than unkind ones. Kind words produce kind 
actions, not only on the* part of him to whom they are 
addressed, but on the part of him by whom they are 
employed; and this not incidentally onty, but habitually, 
in virtue of the principal of association.” * * * 

“ It may, indeed, happen that the effort of beneficience 
may not benefit those for whom it was intended; but 
when wisely directed it must benefit the person from 
whom it emanates.” 

The poet Rogers used to tell a story of a little girl, 
a great favorite with every one who knew her. Some 
one said to her, “ Why does every body love you so 
much?” She answered, “I think it is because I love 
every body so much.” This little story is capable of a 
very wide application; for our happiness as human be¬ 
ings, generally speaking, will be found to be very much 
in proportion to the number of things we love, and 
the number of things that love us. And the greatest 
worldly success, however honestly achieved, will con¬ 
tribute comparatively little to happiness unless it be ac¬ 
companied by a lively benevolence towards every 
human being. 


520 


Power of Kindness. 


Kindness does not consist in gifts, but in gentleness 
and generosity of spirit. Men may give their money 
which comes from the purse, and withhold their kind¬ 
ness which comes from the heart. The kindness that 
displays itself in giving money does not amount to 
much, and often does quite as much harm as good; but 
the kindness of true sympathy, of thoughtful help, is 
never without beneficient results. 

It is the kindly-dispositioned men who are the active 
men of the world, while the selfish and the skeptical, who 
have no love but for themselves, are its idlers. Buffon 
used to say that he would give nothing for a young 
man who did not begin life with an enthusiasm of some 
sort. It showed that at least he had faith in some¬ 
thing good, lofty, and generous, even if unattainable. 
Egotism and selfishness are always miserable compan¬ 
ions in life, and they are especially unnatural in youth. 
The egotist is next door to a fanatic. Constantly occu¬ 
pied with self, he has no thought to spare for others. 
He refers to himself in all things, thinks of himself, 
and studies himself, until his own little self becomes his 
own little god. 

Worst of all are the grumblers and growlers at for¬ 
tune—who find that “ whatever is is wrong,” and will 
do nothing to set matters right—who declare all to be 
barren, u from Dan even to Beersheba.” These grum¬ 
blers are invariably found the least efficient helpers in 
the school of life. As the worst workmen are usually 
the readiest to “ strike,” so the least industrious mem¬ 
bers of society are the readiest to complain. The worst 
wheel of all is the one that creaks. 


521 


The Shallo r w?iess of Discontent. 

There is such a thing as the cherishing of discontent 
until the feeling becomes morbid. The jaundiced see 
everything about them yellow. The ill-conditioned 
think all things awry, and the whole world out of joint. 
All is vanity and vexation of spirit. The little girl in 
Punch , who found her doll stuffed with bran, and forth¬ 
with declared everything to be hollow, and wanted to 
<L go into a nunnery,” had her counterpart in real life. 
Many full-grown people are quite as morbidly unreason¬ 
able. 

We have to be on our guard against small troubles, 
which, by encouraging, we are apt to magnify into 
great ones. Indeed, the chief source of worry in the 
world is not real but imaginary evil—small vexations 
and trivial afflictions. In the presence of a great sor- 
sow, all petty troubles disappear; but we are too ready 
to take some cherished misery to our bosom, and to 
pet it there. Let the necessitarians argue as they may, 
freedom of will and action is the possession of ever}’ 
man and woman. It is sometimes our glory, and very 
often it is our shame; all depends upon the manner in 
which it is used. We can choose to look at the bright 
side of things or at the dark. We can follow good 
and eschew evil thoughts. We can be wrong-headed 
and wrong-hearted, or the reverse, as we ourselves de¬ 
termine. The world will be to each one of us very 
much what we make it. The cheerful are its real pos¬ 
sessors, for the world belongs to those who enjoy it. 

It must, however, be admitted that there are cases 
beyond the reach of the moralist. Once, when a mise¬ 
rable-looking dyspeptic called upon a leading physician, 


522 


Cheerfulness and Hope . 

and laid his case before him, “ Oh,” said the doctor,, 
“ you only want a good hearty laugh; go and see Gri¬ 
maldi!” “ Alas!” said the miserable patient, “/ am 
Grimaldi!” So, when Smollett, oppressed by disease, 
traveled over Europe in the hope of finding health, he 
saw everything through his own jaundiced eyes. u I’ll 
tell it,” said Smellfungus, “to the world.” 11 You had 
better tell it,” said Sterne, “to your physician.” 

Meeting evils by anticipation is not the way to over¬ 
come them. If we perpetually carry our burdens about 
with us, they will soon bear us down under their load. 
When evil comes, we must deal with it bravely and 
hopefully. What Perthes wrote to a young man, who 
seemed to him inclined to take trifles as well as sor¬ 
rows too much to heart, was doubtless good advice: 
“ Go forward with hope and confidence. This is the 
advice given thee by an old man, who has had a full 
share of the burden and heat of life’s day. We must 
ever stand upright, happen what may, and for this end 
we must cheerfully resign ourselves to the varied influ¬ 
ences of this many-colored life. You may call this 
levity, and you are partly right—for flowers and colors 
are but trifles light as air—but such levity is a constit¬ 
uent portion of our human nature, without which it 
would sink under the weight of time. While on earth 
we must still play with earth, and with that which 
blooms and fades upon its breast. The consciousness 
of this mortal life being but the way to a higher goal 
by no means precludes our playing with it cheerfully; 
and, indeed, we must do so, otherwise our energy in ac¬ 
tion will entirely fail.” 


Pleasures of Hope. 


523 


Cheerfulness also accompanies patience, which is one 
of the main conditions of happiness and success in life. 
u He that will be served,” says George Herbert, “must 
be patient.” It was said of the cheerful and patient 
King Alfred, that “ good fortune accompanied him like 
a gift of God.” Marlborough’s expectant calmness was 
great, and a principal secret of his success as a gen¬ 
eral. “ Patience will overcome all things,” he wrote 
in 1702. In the midst of a great emergency, while 
baffled and opposed by his allies, he said: “ Having 
done all that is possible, we should submit with pa¬ 
tience.” 

Last and chiefest of blessings is hope, the most com¬ 
mon of possessions; for, as Thales, the philosopher, 
said, “ Even those who have nothing else have hope.” 
Hope is the great helper of the poor. It has even been 
styled “the poor man’s bread.” It is also the sustainer 
and inspirer of great deeds. It is recorded of Alexan¬ 
der the Great that, when he succeeded to the throne of 
Macedon, he gave away among his friends the greater 
part of the estates which his father had left him; and 
when Perdiccas asked him what he reserved for him¬ 
self, Alexander answered, “ the greatest possession of 
all—hope!” 


P 


CHAPTER XXII. 


MANNER—ART. 


“A beautiful behavior is better than a beautiful form; it gives a higher 
pleasure than statues and pictures ; it is the finest of the fine arts.”— Emerson. 

“Manners are often too much neglected; they are most important to men, 
no less than to women. Life is too short to get over a bad manner ; besides, 
manners are the shadows of virtues.”— Rev. Sidney Smith. 

ANNER is one of the principal external graces 
of character. It is the ornament of action, 
and often makes the commonest offices beauti¬ 
ful by the way in which it performs them. It 
is a happy way of doing things, adorning even the 
smallest details of life, and contributing to render it, as 
a whole, agreeable and pleasant. 

Manner has a good deal to do with the estimation 
in which men are held by the world; and it has often 
more influence in the government of others than quali¬ 
ties of much greater depth and substance. A manner 
at once gracious and cordial is among the greatest aids 
to success, and many there are who fail for want of it. 
Locke thought it of greater importance that an educa¬ 
tor of youth should be well-bred and well-tempered, 
than that he should be either a thorough classicist or 
man of science. 

While rudeness and gruffness bar doors and shut 
hearts, kindness and propriety of behavior, in which 





Power of Manner. 525 

good manners consist, act as an “ open sesame ” every¬ 
where. Doors unbar before them, and they are a pass¬ 
port to the hearts of every body, young and old. 
There is a common saying that “ Manners make the 
man; ” but this is not so true as that “ Man makes the 
manners.” A man may be gruff, and even rude, and 
yet be good at heart and of sterling character; yet he 
would doubtless be a much more agreeable, and proba 
bly a much more useful man, were he to exhibit that 
suavity of disposition and courtesy of manner which 
always gives a finish to the true gentleman. 

A man’s manner, to a certain extent, indicates his 
character. It is the external exponent of his inner na¬ 
ture. It indicates his taste, his feelings, and his tem¬ 
per, as well as the society to which he has been accus¬ 
tomed. There is a conventional manner, which is of 
comparatively little importance; but the natural man 
ner, the outcome of natural gifts, improved by careful 
self-culture, signifies a great deal. 

Grace of manner is inspired by sentiment, which is a 
source of no slight enjoyment to a cultivated mind. 
Viewed in this light, sentiment is of almost as much 
importance as talents and acquirements, while it is even 
more influential in giving the direction to a man’s tastes 
and character. Sympathy is the golden key that un¬ 
locks the hearts of others. It not only teaches polite¬ 
ness and courtesy, but gives insight and unfolds wis¬ 
dom, and may almost be regarded as the crowning 
grace of humanity. 

Artificial rules of politeness are of very little use. 
What passes by the name of “ Etiquette ” is often of 


526 


Politeness. 


the essence of unpoliteness and untruthfulness. It con¬ 
sists in a great measure of posture-making, and is easily 
seen through. Even at best, etiquette is but a substi¬ 
tute for good manners, though it is often but their mere 
counterfeit. 

Good manners consist, for the most part, in courteous¬ 
ness and kindness. Politeness has been described as 
the art of showing, by external signs, the internal re¬ 
gard we have for others. But one may be perfectly 
polite to another without necessarily paying a special 
regard for him. Good manners are neither more nor 
less than beautiful behavior. It has been well said that 
11 a beautiful form is better than a beautiful face, and a 
beautiful behavior is better than a beautiful form; it 
give a higher pleasure than statues or pictures—it is 
the finest of the fine arts.” 

The truest politeness comes of sincerity It must be 
the outcome of the heart, or it will make no lasting 
impression; for no amount of polish can dispense with 
truthfulness. The natural character must be allowed 
to appear, freed of its angularities and asperities. 
Though politeness, in its best form, should resemble 
water—“ best when clearest, most simple, and without 
taste ”—yet genius in a man will always cover many 
defects of manner, and much will be excused to the 
strong and the original. Without genuineness and in¬ 
dividuality, human life would lose much of its interest 
and variety, as well as its manliness and robustness of 
character. 

True politeness especially exhibits itself in regard 
for the personality of others. A man will respect the 


Self-restraint. 


527 


individuality of another if he wishes to be respected 
himself. He will have due regards for his views and 
opinions, even though they differ from his own. The 
well-mannered man pays a compliment to another, and 
sometimes even secures his respect by patiently listen¬ 
ing to him. He is simply tolerant and forbearant, and 
refrains from judging harshly ;^and harsh judgment of 
others will almost invariably provoke harsh judgments 
of ourselves. 

The impolite, impulsive man will, however, some¬ 
times rather lose his friend than his joke. He may 
surely be pronounced a very foolish person who secures 
another’s hatred at the price of a moment’s gratification. 
It was a saying of Burnel, the engineer—himself one of 
the kindest-natured of men—that “ spite and ill-nature 
are among the most expensive luxuries in life.” Dr. 
Johnson once said: “Sir, a man has no more right to 
say an uncivil thing than to act one—no more right to 
say a rude thing to another than to knock him down.” 

Want of respect for the feelings of others usually 
originates in selfishness, and issues in hardness and re¬ 
pulsiveness of manner It may not proceed from ma¬ 
lignity so much as from want of sympathy and want of 
delicacy—a want of that perception of, and attention 
to, those little and apparently trifling things by which 
pleasure is given or pain occasioned to others. Indeed, 
it may be said that in self-sacrifice in the ordinary in¬ 
tercourse of life, mainly consists the difference between 
being well and ill bred. Without some degree of self- 
restraint in society a man may be found almost insuffer¬ 
able. No one has pleasure in holding intercourse with 


528 


Practical Impoliteness. 


such a person, and he is a constant source of annoyance 
to those about him. For want of self-restraint many 
men are engaged all their lives in fighting with diffi¬ 
culties of their own making, and rendering success im¬ 
possible by their own cross-grained rudeness, while 
others, much less gifted, make their way and achieve 
success by simple patience, equanimity and self-control. 

It has been said that men succeed in life quite as 
much by their temper as by their talents. However 
this may be, it is certain that their happiness depends 
mainly on their temperament, especially upon their dis¬ 
position to be cheerful; upon their complaisance, kind¬ 
liness of manner, and willingness to oblige others—de¬ 
tails of conduct which are like the small-change in the 
intercourse of life, and are always in request. 

Men may show their disregard of others in various 
impolite ways, as, for instance, by neglect of propriety 
in dress, by the absence of cleanliness, or by indulg¬ 
ing in repulsive habits. The slovenly, dirty person, by 
rendering himself physically disagreeable, sets the tastes 
and feelings of others at defiance, and is rude and un¬ 
civil, only under another form. 

The perfection of manner is ease—that it attracts no 
man’s notice as such, but is natural and unaffected. 
Artifice is incompatible with courteous frankness of 
manner. Rochefoucauld has said that “nothing so 
much prevents our being natural as the desire of ap¬ 
pearing so.” Thus we come round again to sincerity 
and truthfulness, which find their outward expression 
in graciousness, urbanity, kindliness and consideration 
for the feelings of others. The frank and cordial man 


529 


Indications of Self respect. 

sets those about him at their ease. He warms and ele¬ 
vates them by his presence, and wins all hearts. Thus 
manner, in its highest form, like character, becomes a 
genuine motive power. 

u The love and admiration,” says Canon Kingsley, 
“ which that truly brave and loving man, Sir Sidney 
Smith won from every one, rich and poor, with whom 
he came in contact, seems to have arisen from the one 
fact that, without, perhaps, having any such conscious 
intention, he treated rich and poor, his own servants 
and the noblemen his guests, alike courteously, consid¬ 
erately, cheerfully, affectionately—so leaving a blessing, 
and reaping a blessing wherever he went.” 

Men who toil with their hands, equally with those 
who do not, may respect themselves and respect one 
another; and it is by their demeanor to each other—in 
other words, by their manners—that self-respect as well 
as mutual respect are indicated. There is scarcely a 
moment in their lives the enjoyment of which might 
not be enhanced by kindliness of this sort—in the work¬ 
shop, in the street, or at home. The civil workman 
will exercise increased power among his class., and grad¬ 
ually induce them to imitate him by his persistent 
steadiness, civility and kindness. One may be polite 
and gentle with very little money in his purse. Polite¬ 
ness goes far, yet costs nothing. It is the cheapest of 
all commodities. It is the humblest of the fine arts, 
yet it is so useful and pleasure-giving that it might al¬ 
most be ranked among the humanities. 

The French and Germans, of even the humblest 
classes, are gracious in manner, complaisant, cordial, 
34 


530 


Good Taste. 


and well-bred. The foreign workman lifts his cap and 
respectfully salutes his fellow-workman in passing. 
There is no sacrifice of manliness in this, but grace 
and dignity. Even the lowest poverty of the foreign 
work-people is not misery, simply because it is cheer¬ 


ful. 


Good taste is a true economist. It may be practiced 
on small means, and sweeten the lot of labor as well as 
of ease. It is all the more enjoyed, indeed, when asso¬ 
ciated with industry and the performance of duty. 
Even the lot of poverty is elevated by taste. It exhibits 
itself in the economies of the household. It gives 
brightness and grace to the humblest dwelling. It pro¬ 
duces refinement, it engenders good-will, and creates an 
atmosphere of cheerfulness. Thus good taste, asso¬ 
ciated with kindliness, sympathy, and inteligence, may 
elevate and adorn even the lowliest lot. 

The first and best school of manners, as of charac¬ 
ter, is always the Home, where woman is the teacher. 
The manners of society at large are but the reflex of 
the manners of our collective homes, neither better nor 
worse. Yet, with all the disadvantages of ungenial 
homes, men may practice self-culture of manner as of 
intellect, and learn by good examples to cultivate a 
graceful and agreeable behavior towards others. Most 
men are like so many gems in the rough, which need 
polishing by contact with other- and better natures, to 
bring out their full beauty and lustre. Some have but 
one side polished, sufficient only to show the delicate 
graining of the interior; but to bring out the full quali¬ 
ties of the gem needs the discipline of experience, and 



. Instinctive Tact of Women. 


531 


contact with the best examples of character in the in¬ 
tercourse of daily life. 

A good deal of the success of manner consists in tact; 
and it is because women, on the whole, have greater 
tact than men, that they prove the most influential 
teachers. They have more self-restraint than men, and 
are naturally more gracious and polite. They possess 
an intuitive quickness and readiness of action, have a 
keener insight into character, and exhibit greater dis¬ 
crimination and address. In matters of social detail 
aptness and dexterity come to them like nature; and 
hence well-mannered men usually receive their best 
culture by mixing in the society of gentle and adroit 
women. 

Tact is an intuitive art of manner, which carries one 
through a difficulty better than either talent or knowl¬ 
edge. u Talent,” says a public writer, “ is power; tact 
is skill. Talent is weight; tact is momentum. Talent 
knows what to do; tact knows how to do it. Talent 
makes a man respectable; tact makes him respected. 
Talent is wealth; tact is ready-money.” “At a gath¬ 
ering in Australia not long since, four persons met, 
three of them were shepherds on a sheep-farm; one of 
these had taken a degree at Oxford, another at Cam¬ 
bridge, the third at a German University. The fourth 
was their employer, a squatter, rich in flocks and herds, 
but scarcely able to read or write, much less to keep 
accounts.” 

The difference between a man of quick tact and of 
no tact whatever was exemplified in an interview which 
once took place between Lord Palmerston and Mr. 


532 


Superficiality of Manner . 


Behnes, the sculptor. At the last sitting which Lord 
Palmerston gave him, Behnes opened the conversation 
with — u Any news, my lord, from France? How do we 
stand with Louis Napoleon? ” The Foreign Secretary 
raised his eyebrows for an instant, and quickly replied, 
u Really Mr. Behnes, I don’t know; I have not seen 
the newspapers! ” Poor Behnes, with many excellent 
qualities and much real talent, was one of the many 
men who entirely missed their way in life through want 
of tact. 

Such is the power of manner, combined with tact, 
that Wilkes, one of the ugliest of men, used to say that, 
in winning the graces of a lady, there was not more 
than three days’ difference between him and the hand¬ 
somest man in England. But this reference to Wilkes 
reminds us that too much importance must not be at¬ 
tached to manner, for it does not afford any gennine 
test of character. The well-mannered man may, like 
Wilkes, be merely acting a part, and that for an im¬ 
moral purpose. Manner, like other fine arts, gives 
pleasure, and is exceedingly agreeable to look upon; 
but it may be assumed as a disguise, as men “ assume 
a virtue though they have it not.” It is but the exte¬ 
rior sign of good conduct, but may be no more than 
skin-deep. The most highly-polished person may be 
thoroughly depraved in heart; and his superfine man¬ 
ners may, after all, only consist in pleasing gestures and 
in fine phrases. On the other hand, it must be ac¬ 
knowledged that some of the richest and most gener¬ 
ous natures have been wanting in the graces of cour¬ 
tesy and politeness. As a rough rind sometimes covers 


John Knox and Martin Liither. 533 

the sweetest fruit, so a rough exterior often conceals a 
kindly and hearty nature. The blunt man may seem 
even rude in manner, and yet at heart be honest, kind, 
and gentle. 

John Knox and Martin Luther were by no means 
distinguished for their urbanity. They had work to do 
which needed strong and determined rather than well- 
mannered men. Indeed, they were both thought to be 
unnecessarily harsh and violent in their manner. “And 
who art thou,” said Mary Queen of Scots to Knox, 
“ that presumest to school the nobles and sovereign of 
this realm?” “Madam,” replied Knox, “a subject 
born within the same.” It is said that his boldness, or 
roughness, more than once made Queen Mary weep. 
When Regent Morton heard of this, he said, “Well, 
’tis better that women should weep than bearded men.” 
As Knox was retiring from the Queen’s presence on 
one occasion he overheard one of the royal attendants 
say to another, “He is not afraid!” Turning round 
upon them, he said: “And why should the pleasing 
face of a gentleman frighten me ? I have looked on the 
faces of angry men, and yet have not been afraid be¬ 
yond measure.” When the Reformer, worn out by 
excess of labor and anxiety, was at length laid to his 
rest, the regent, looking down into the open grave, ex¬ 
claimed, in words which made a strong impression 
from their aptness and truth—“ There lies he who 
never feared the face of man! ” 

Luther also was thought by some to be a mere com¬ 
pound of violence and ruggedness. But, as in the case 
of Knox, the times in which he lived were rude and 


534 


Johnson's Gruff ness. 

violent, and the work he had to do could scarcely have 
been accomplished with gentleness and suavity. To 
rouse Europe from its lethargy, he had to speak and to 
write with force, and even vehemence. Yet Luther's 
vehemence was only in words. His apparently rude 
exterior covered a warm heart. In private life he was 
gentle, loving, and affectionate. He was simple and 
homely, even to commonness. Fond of all common 
pleasures and enjoyments, he was any thing but an 
austere man or a bigot; for he was hearty, genial, 
and even “jolly.” Luther was the common people’s 
hero in his lifetime, and he remains so in Germany to 
this day. 

Samuel Johnson was rude and often gruff in manner. 
But he had been brought up in a rough school. Pov¬ 
erty in early life had made him acquainted with strange 
companions. He had wandered in the streets with Sav¬ 
age for nights together, unable between them to raise 
money enough to pay for a bed. When his indomita- 
table courage and industry at length secured for him a 
footing in society, he still bore upon him the scars of 
his early sorrows and struggles. He was by nature 
strong and robust, and his experience made him unac¬ 
commodating and self-asserting. When he was once 
asked why he was not invited to dine out as Garrick 
was, he answered, “ Because great lords and ladies did 
not like to have their mouths stopped; ” and Johnson 
was a notorious mouth-stopper, though what he said 
was always worth listening to. 

Johnson’s companion spoke of him as “Ursa Ma¬ 
jor;” but, as Goldsmith generously said of him, “Xo 


535 


Good Humor and Simplicity. 

man alive has a more tender heart; he has nothing of 
the bear about him but his skin.” The kindliness of 
Johnson’s nature was shown on one occasion by the man¬ 
ner in which he assisted a supposed lady in crossing 
Fleet Street. He gave her his arm and led her across, 
not observing that she was in liquor at the time. But 
the spirit of the act was not the less kind on that ac¬ 
count. On the other hand, the conduct of the book¬ 
seller on whom Johnson once called to solicit employ¬ 
ment, and who, regarding his athletic but uncouth per¬ 
son, told him he had better “ go buy a porter’s knot 
and carry trunks, ” in howsoever bland tones the ad¬ 
vice might have been communicated, was simply 
brutal. 

While captiousness of manner, and the habit of dis¬ 
puting and contradicting every thing said, is chilling 
and repulsive, the opposite habit of assenting to, and 
sympathizing with, every statement made, or emotion 
expressed, is almost equally disagreeable. It is unman¬ 
ly, and is felt to be dishonest. “ It may seem difficult,” 
says Richard Sharp, “ to steer always between blunt¬ 
ness and plain dealing, between giving merited praise 
and lavishing indiscriminate flattery; but it is very easy 
—good humor, kind-heartedness and perfect simplicity, 
being all that are requisite to do what is right in the 
right way.” 

At the same time many are impolite, not because 
they mean to be so, but because they are awkward, and 
perhaps know no better. Thus, when Gibbon had pub¬ 
lished the second and third volumes of his “ Decline 
and Fall,” the Duke of Cumberland met him one day, 


536 


Shyness and Reserve. 


and accosted him with, u llow do you do, Mr., Gibbon? 

I see you are always at it in the old way— scribble , 
scribble , scribble I ' 1 ' 1 The duke probably intended to 
pay the author a compliment but did not know how 
better to do it than in this blunt and apparently rude 
way. 

Again, many persons are thought to be stiff, reserved, 
and proud, when they are only shy. Shyness is char¬ 
acteristic of most people of Teutonic race. From all 
that can be learned of Shakspeare, it is to be inferred 
that he was an exceedingly shy man. The manner in 
which his plays were sent into the world—for it is not 
known that he edited or authorized the publication of 
a single one of them—and the dates at which they re¬ 
spectively appeared, are mere matters of conjecture. 
His appearance in his own plays in second and even 
third-rate parts, his indifference to reputation, and even 
his apparent aversion to be held in repute by his con¬ 
temporaries, his disappearance from London (the seat 
and centre of histrionic art) so soon as he had realized 
a moderate competency, and his retirement about the 
age of forty, for the remainder of his days, to a life of 
obscurity in a small town in the midland counties, all 
seem to unite in proving the shrinking nature of the 
man, and his unconquerable shyness. 

But a still more recent and striking instance is that 
of the late Archbishop Whately, who, in the early part 
of his life, was painfully oppressed by the sense of shy¬ 
ness. When at Oxford, his white, rough coat and 
white hat obtained for him the sobriquet of “ The 
White Bear; ” and his manners, according to his own 


Washington's Shyness. 5 3 7 

account of himself, corresponded with the appellation. 
He was directed, by way of remedy, to copy the ex¬ 
ample of the best-mannered men he met in society; but 
the attempt to do this only increased his shyness, and 
he failed. He found that he was all the while thinking 
of himself, rather than of others; whereas thinking of 
others, rather than of one’s self, is the true essence of 
politeness. Finding that he was making no progress, 
Whately was driven to utter despair; and then he said 
to himself, “ Why should I endure this torture all my 
life to no purpose? I would bear it still if there was 
any success to be hoped for; but since there is not, I 
will die quietly, without taking any more doses. I 
have tried my very utmost, and find that I must be as 
awkward as a bear all my life, in spite of it. I will 
endeavor to think as little about it as a bear, and make 
up my mind to endure what can't be cured.” From 
this time forth he struggled to shake off all conscious¬ 
ness as to manner, and to disregard censure as much 
as possible. In adopting this course, he says: “ I suc¬ 
ceeded beyond my expectations; for I not only got rid 
of the personal suffering of shyness, but also of most 
of those faults of manner which consciousness produces; 
and acquired at once an easy and natural manner— 
careless, indeed, in the extreme, from its originating in 
a stern defiance of opinion, which I had convinced my¬ 
self must be ever against me; but unconscious, and 
therefore giving expression to that good-will towards 
men which I really feel; and these, I believe, are the 
main points.” 

Washington, who was an Englishman in his lineage. 


538 


True Politeness. 


was also one in his shyness. He is described incident¬ 
ally by Mr. Josiah Quincy as “a little stiff in his per* 
son, not a little formal in his manner, and not par¬ 
ticularly at ease in the presence of strangers. He 
had the air of a country gentleman not accustomed 
to mix much in society, perfectly polite, but not easy in 
address and conversation, and not graceful in his move¬ 
ments.” 

True politeness is best evinced by self-forgetfulness 
or self-denial in the interest of others. Mr. Garfield, 
our martyred president, was a gentleman of royal type. 
His friend, Col. Rockwell, says of him: “ In the midst 
of his suffering he never forgets others. For instance, 
to-day he said to me, ‘ Rockwell, there is a poor sol¬ 
dier’s widow who came to me before this thing oc¬ 
curred, and I promised her she should be provided for. 
I want you to see that the matter is attended to at 
once.’ He is the most docile patient I ever saw.” 

Although we are not accustomed to think of modern 
Americans as shy, the most distinguished American 
author of our time was probably the shyest of men. 
Nathaniel Hawthorne was shy to the extent of morbid¬ 
ity. We have observed him, when a stranger entered 
the room where he was, turn his back for the purpose 
of avoiding recognition. And yet, when the crust of 
his shyness was broken, no man could be more cordial 
and genial than Hawthorne. We observe a remark in 
one of Hawthorne’s lately published “ Note-books,” 
that on one occasion he met Mr. Helps in society, and 
found him “ cold.” And doubtless Mr. Helps thought 
the same of him. It was only the case of two shy men 


The Love of Home . 


539 


meeting, each thinking the other stiff and reserved, and 
parting before their mutual him of shyness had been 
removed by a little friendly intercourse. 

We have thus far spoken of shyness as a defect. But 
there is another way of looking at it; for even shyness 
has its bright side, and contains an element of good. 
Shy men and shy races are ungraceful and undemon¬ 
strative, because, as regards society at large, they are 
comparatively unsociable. They do not possess those 
elegances of manner acquired by free intercourse, which 
distinguish the social races, because their tendency is to 
shun society rather than to seek it. They are shy in 
the presence of strangers, and shy even in their own 
families. They hide their affections under a robe of 
reserve, and when they do give way to their feelings, 
it is only in some very hidden inner chamber. And yet 
the feelings are there, and not the less healthy and gen¬ 
uine that they are not made the subject of exhibition to 
others. 

It was not a little characteristic of the ancient Ger 
mans that the more social and demonstrative peoples 
by whom they were surrounded should have character¬ 
ized them as the dumb men. And the same designa¬ 
tion might equally apply to the modern English, as 
compared, for example, with their nimbler, more com¬ 
municative and vocal, and in all respects, more social 
neighbors, the modern French and Irish. But there is 
one characteristic which marks the English people, as 
it did the races from which they have mainly, sprung, 
and that is their intense love of home. Give the Eng¬ 
lishman a home, and he is comparatively indifferent to 



540 


Art Culture. 


society. For the sake of a holding which he can call 
his own, he will cross the sea, plant himself on the prai¬ 
rie or amidst the primeval forest, and make for him¬ 
self a home. The solitude of the wilderness has no 
fears for him; the society of his wife and family is suf¬ 
ficient, and he cares for no other. Hence it is that the 
people of Germanic origin, from whom the English and 
Americans have alike sprung, make the best of colo¬ 
nizers, and are now rapidly extending themselves as 
emigrants and settlers in all parts of the habitable globe. 

To remedy this admitted defect of grace and want 
of artistic taste in the English people, a school has 
sprung up among us for the more general diffusion of 
fine art. The Beautiful has now its teachers and 
preachers, and by some it is almost regarded in the 
light of a religion. “ The Beautiful is the Good ”—■ 
u The Beautiful is the True ”■—“ The Beautiful is the 
priest of the Benevolent,’’ are among their texts. It 
is believed that by the study of art, the tastes of the 
people may be improved; that by contemplating ob¬ 
jects of beauty their nature will become purified; 
and that by being thereby withdrawn from sensual 
enjoyments, their character will be refined and elevated. 

But though such culture is calculated to be elevating 
and purifying in a certain degree, we must not expect 
too much from it. Grace is a sweetener and embel- 
isher of life, and as such is worthy of cultivation. Mu¬ 
sic, painting, dancing, and the fine arts, are all sources 
of pleasure; and though they may not be sensual, yet 
they are sensuous, and often nothing more. The cul¬ 
tivation of a taste for beauty of form or color, of sound 


Art and National Decadence. 541 

or attitude, has no necessary effect upon the cultivation 
of the mind or the development of the character. The 
contemplation of fine works of art will doubtless im¬ 
prove the taste and excite admiration; but a single 
noble action done in the sight of men will more influ¬ 
ence the mind, and stimulate the character to imitation, 
than the sight of miles of statuary or acres of pictures. 
For it is mind, soul, and heart—not taste or art—that 
make men great. 

Art has usually flourished most during the decadence 
of nations, when it has been hired by wealth as the 
minister of luxury. Exquisite art and degrading cor¬ 
ruption were contemporary in Greece as well as in 
Rome. Phidias and Iktinos had scarcely completed the 
Parthenon when the glory of Athens had departed; 
Phidias died in prison; and the Spartans set up in the 
city the memorials of their own triumph and of Athe¬ 
nian defeat. It was the same in ancient Rome, where 
art was at its greatest height when the people were in 
their most degraded condition. Nero was an artist as 
well as Domitian, two of the greatest monsters of the 
Empire. If the “ Beautiful ” had been the “ Good,” 
Commodus must have been one of the best of men. 
But according to history he was one of the worst. 

Again, the greatest period of modern Roman art was 
that in which Pope Leo X. flourished, of whose reign 
it has been said that u profligacy and licentiousness pre* 
vailed among the people and clergy, as they had done 
almost uncontrolled ever since the pontificate of Alex¬ 
ander VI.” In like manner, the period at which art 
reached its highest point in the Low Countries was that 


542 The Highest Culture. 

which immediately succeeded the destruction of civil 
and religious liberty, and the prostration of the na¬ 
tional character under the despotism of Spain. If art 
could elevate a nation, and the contemplation of The 
Beautiful were calculated to make men good—then 
Paris ought to contain a population of the wisest and 
best of human beings. Rome also is a great city of 
art, and yet there the virtus or valor of the ancient 
Romans has characteristically degenerated into vertu , 
or a taste for knickknacks; while, according to recent 
accounts, the city itself is inexpressibly foul. 

Art would even sometimes appear to have a connec¬ 
tion with dirt; and it is said of Mr. Ruskin that, when 
searching for works of art in Venice, his attendant in 
his explorations would sniff an ill-odor, and when it was 
strong, would say, “ Now we are coming to something 
very old and fine,”—meaning in art. A little common 
education in cleanliness, where it is wanting, would 
probably be much more improving, as well as whole¬ 
some, than any amount of education in fine art. Ruf¬ 
fles are all very well, but it is folly to cultivate them to 
the neglect of the shirt. 

While, therefore, grace of manner, politeness of be¬ 
havior, elegance of demeanor, and all the arts that con¬ 
tribute to make life pleasant and beautiful, are worthy 
of cultivation, it must not be at the expense of the 
more solid and enduring qualities of honesty, sincerity, 
and truthfulness. The fountain of beauty must be in 
the heart more than in the eye, and if it do not tend to 
produce beautiful life and noble practice, it will prove 
of comparatively little avail. Politeness of manner is 


Purity of Character. 


543 


not worth much unless it is accompanied by polite ac¬ 
tions. Grace may be but skin-deep—very pleasant and 
attractive, and yet very heartless. Art may be a source 
of innocent enjoyment, and an important aid to higher 
culture; but unless it leads to higher culture, it may be 
merely sensuous. And when art is merely sensuous, it 
is enfeebling and demoralizing rather than strengthen¬ 
ing or elevating. Honest courage is of greater worth 
than any^ amount of grace; purity is better than 
elegance; and cleanliness of body, mind, and heart, 
than any amount of fine art. 

While the cultivation of the graces is not to be neg¬ 
lected, it should never be forgotten that there is some¬ 
thing far higher and nobler to be aimed at—greater 
than pleasure, greater than art, greater than wealth, 
greater than power, greater than intellect, greater than 
genius; and that is purity and excellence of character. 
Without a solid, sterling basis of individual goodness, 
all the grace, elegance, and art in the world would fail 
to save or elevate a people. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 


. tf COMPANIONSHIP OF BOOKS. 

“ Books, we know, 

Are a substantial world, both pure and good, 

Round which, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, 

Our pastime and our happiness can grow.”— WORDSWORTH. 

“Not only in the common speech of men, but in all art too—which is or 
should be the concentrated and conserved essence of what men can speak and 
show—Biography is almost the one thing needful.”— Carlyle. 

MAN may usually be known by the books he 
reads, as well as by the company he keeps; for 
there is a companionship of books as well as 
of men; and one should always live in the 
best company, whether it be oi books or of men. 

A good book may be among the best ol friends. It 
is the same to-day as it always was, and it will 
never change. It is the most patient and cheerful of 
companions. It does not turn its back upon us in times 
of adversity or distress. It always receives us with the 
same kindness; amusing and instructing us in youth, 
and comforting and consoling us in age. 

Men often discover their affinity to each other by the 
mutual love they have for a book—-just as two persons 
sometimes discover a friend by the admiration which 
both entertain for a third. There is an old proverb, 
“ Love me, love my dog.” But there is more wisdom 
in this: “ Love me, love my book.” The book is a 







Companionship op' Books. 


545 


truer and higher bond of union. Men can think, feel 
and sympathize with each other through their favorite 
author. “ Books,” said Hazlitt, “ wind into the heart; 
the poet’s verse slides into the current of our blood. 
We read them when young, we remember them when 
old. We read there of what has happened to others; 
we feel that it has happened to ourselves. They are to 
be had everywhere cheap and good. We breathe but 
the air of books. We owe everything to their authors, 
on this side barbarism.” 

A good book is often the best urn of a life, enshrining 
the best thoughts of which that life was capable; for 
the world of a man’s life is, for the most part, but the 
world of his thoughts. Thus the best books are treas¬ 
uries of good words and golden thoughts, which, re¬ 
membered and cherished, become our abiding compan¬ 
ions and comforters. u They are never alone,” said 
Sir Philip Sidney, “ that are accompanied by noble 
thoughts.” The good and true thought may in time 
of temptation be as an angel of mercy purifying and 
guarding the soul It also enshrines the germs of ac¬ 
tion, for good words almost invariably inspire to good 
works. Thus Sir Henry Lawrence prized above all 
other compositions Wordsworth’s “ Character of the 
Happy Warrior,” which he endeavored to embody in 
his own life. It was ever before him as an examplar. 
He thought of it continually, and often quoted it to 
others. His biographer says: “ He tried to conform 
his own life and to assimilate his own character to it; 
and he succeeded, as all men succeed who are truly in 
earnest.” 


35 


546 Good Books the Best Society . 

Books possess an essence of immortality. They are 
by far the most lasting products of human effort. Tem¬ 
ples crumble into ruin, pictures and statues decay, but 
books survive. Time is of no account with great 
thoughts, which are as fresh to-day as when they first 
passed through their author’s minds, ages ago. What 
was then said and thought still speaks to us as vividly 
as ever from the printed page. The only effect of time 
has been to sift and winnow out the bad products, for 
nothing in literature can long survive but what is really 
good. 

Books introduce us into the best society; they bring 
us into the presence of the greatest minds that have 
ever lived. We hear what they said and did; we see 
them as if they were really alive; we are participators 
in their thoughts; we sympathize with them, enjoy with 
them, grieve with them; their experience becomes ours, 
and we feel as if we were in a measure actors with 
them in the scenes which they describe. 

Great is the human interest felt in biography. What 
are all the novels that find such multitudes of readers, but 
so many fictitious biographies? What are the dramas 
that people crowd to see, but so much acted biography ? 
Strange that the highest genius should be employed on 
the fictitious biography, and so much commonplace 
ability on the real! Yet the authentic picture of any 
human being’s life and experience ought to possess an 
interest greatly beyond that which is fictitious, inasmuch 
as it has the charm of reality. Every person may learn 
something from the recorded life of another; and even 
comparatively trivial deeds and sayings may be invested 


547 


Great Lesson of Biography. 

with interest, as being the outcome of the lives of such 
beings as we ourselves are. The records of the lives 
of good men are especially useful. They influence our 
hearts, inspire us with hope, and set before us great ex¬ 
amples. And when men have done their duty through 
life In a great spirit, their influence will never wholly 
pass away. u The good life,” says George Herbert,” 
“ is never out of season.” 

Goethe has said that there is no man so common¬ 
place that a wise man may not learn something from 
him. Sir Walter Scott could not travel in a coach 
without gleaning some information or discovering 
some new trait of character in his companions. Dr. 
Johnson once observed that there was not a person in 
the streets but he should like to know his biography— 
his experience of life, his trials, his difficulties, his suc¬ 
cesses and his failures. How much more truly might 
this be said of the men who have made their mark in 
the world’s history, and have created for us that great 
inheritance of civilization of which we are the pos¬ 
sessors! Whatever relates to such men—to their habits, 
their manners, their modes of living, their personal his 
tory, their conversation, their maxims, their virtues, or 
their greatness—is always Tull of interest, of instruc 
tion, of encouragement, and of example. 

The great lesson of Biography is to show what man 
can be and do at his best. A noble life put fairly on 
record acts like an inspiration to others. It exhibits 
what life is capable of being made. It refreshes our 
spirit, encourages our hopes, gives us new strength and 
courage and faith—faith in others as well as in our- 


548 


History and Biography. 


selves. It stimulates our aspirations, rouses us to ac¬ 
tion, and incites us to become co-partners with them in 
their work. To live with such men in their biogra¬ 
phies, and to be inspired by their example, is to live 
with the best of men and to mix in the best of company. 

History itself is best studied in biography. Indeed, 
history is biography—collective humanity as influenced 
and governed by individual men. u What is all his¬ 
tory,” says Emerson, “ but the^work of ideas, a record 
of the incomparable energy which his infinite aspira 
tions infuse into man ? ” In its pages it is always per¬ 
sons we see more than principles. Historical events are 
interesting to us mainly in connection with the feelings, 
the sufferings, and interests of thosp by whom they 
are accomplished. In history we are surrounded by 
men long dead, but whose speech and whose deeds sur¬ 
vive. We almost catch the sound of their voices; and 
what they did constitutes the interest of history. We 
never feel personally interested in masses of men; but 
we feel and sympathize with the individual actors, whose 
biographies afford the finest and most real touches in 
all great historical dramas. 

Among the great writers of the past, probably the 
two that have been most influential in forming the char 
acters of great men of action and great men of thought 
have been Plutarch and Montaigne—the one by pre 
senting hemic models for imitation, the other by probing 
questions of constant recurrence in which the human 
mind in all ages has taken the deepest interest. And 
the works of both are, for the most part, cast in a bio 
graphic form, their most striking illustrations consisting 


Plutarch's 4 4 Lives. ’’ 


549 


in the exhibitions of character and experience which 
they contain. Plutarch’s 44 Lives,” though written nearly 
eighteen hundred years ago, like Homer, still holds its 
ground as the greatest work of its kind. It was the 
favorite book of Montaigne; and to Englishmen it 
possesses the special interest of having been Shaks- 
peare’s principal authority in his great classical dramas. 
Montaigne pronounced Plutarch to be 4 4 the greatest 
master in that kind of writing ”—the biographic; and 
he declared that he 44 could no sooner cast an eye upon 
him but he purloined either a leg or a wing.” 

Alfieri was first drawn with passion to literature by 
reading Plutarch. U I read,” said he 44 the lives of 
Timoleon, Caesar, Brutus, Pelopidas, more than six 
times, with cries, with tears, and with such transports 
that I was almost furious. Every time that I met with 
one of the grand traits of these great men I was seized 
with such vehement agitation as to be unable to sit 
still.” Plutarch was also a favorite with persons of 
such various minds as Schiller and Benjamin Franklin, 
Napoleon and Madam Roland. The latter was so fas¬ 
cinated by the book that she carried it to church with 
her, and read it surreptitiously during the service. 

It has also been the nurture of heroic souls. It was 
one of Sir William Napier’s favorite books when a 
boy. His mind was early imbued by it with a passiqn- 
ate admiration for the great heroes of antiquity; and 
its influence had, doubtless, much to do with the forma¬ 
tion of his character, as well as the direction of his 
career in life. It is related of him, that in his last ill¬ 
ness, when feeble and exhausted, his mind wandered 


550 


Influence of Plutarch . 


back to Plutarch’s heroes; and he descanted for hours 
to his son-in-law on the mighty deeds of Alexander, 
Hannibal, and Caesar. Indeed, if it were possible to 
poll the great body of readers in all ages whose minds 
have been influeuced and directed by books, it is prob¬ 
able that—excepting the Bible—the immense majority 
of votes would be cast in favor of Plutarch. 

While the best and most carefully-drawn of Plu¬ 
tarch’s portraits are of life-size, many of them are little 
more than busts. They are well-proportioned but com¬ 
pact, and within such reasonable compass that the best 
of them may be read in half an hour. Reduced to this 
measure, they are, however, greatly more imposing than 
a lifeless Colossus or an exaggerated giant. They are 
not overlaid by disquisition and description, but the 
characters naturally unfold themselves; Montaigne, in¬ 
deed, complained of Plutarch’s brevity. “ No doubt,” 
he added, “ but his reputation is the better for it, though 
in the mean time we are the worse. Plutarch would 
rather we should applaud his judgment than commend 
his knowledge, and had rather leave us with an appetite 
to read more than glutted with what we have already 
read. He knew very well that a man may say too- 
much even on the best subjects. Such as have lean and 
spare bodies stuff themselves out with clothes; so they 
who are defective in matter endeavor to make amends 
with words.” 

Plutarch possessed the art of delineating the more 
delicate features of mind and minute pecularities of 
conduct, as well as the foibles and defects of his heroes, 
all of which is necessary to faithful and accurate por- 


Genius of Plutarch. 551 

traiturc. u To see him,” says Montaigne, “ pick out a 
light action in a man’s life, or a word, that does not 
seem to be of any importance, is itself a whole dis 
course.” He even condescends to inform us of such 
homely particulars as that Alexander carried his head 
affectedly on one side; that Alcibiades was a dandy, 
and had a lisp, which became him, giving a grace 
and persuasive turn to his discourse; that Cato had 
red hair and gray eyes, and was a usurer and a screw, 
selling off his old slaves when they became unfit for 
hard work; that Caesar was bald and fond of gay 
dress; and that Cicero had involuntary twitching of 
his nose. 

Such minute particulars may by some be thought be¬ 
neath the dignity of biography, but Plutarch thought 
them requisite for the due finish of the complete por 
trait which he set himself to draw; and it is by small 
details of character—personal traits, features, habits, 
and characteristics—that we are enabled to see before 
us the men as they 7 really lived. Plutarch’s great merit 
consists in his attention to these little things, without 
giving them undue preponderance, or neglecting those 
which are of greater moment. Sometimes he hits off 
an individual trait by an anecdote, which throws more 
light upon the character described than pages of rhetor¬ 
ical description would do. In some cases he gives us 
the favorite maxim of his hero; and the maxims of 
men often reveal their hearts. Then, as to foibles, the 
greatest of men are not unusually symmetrical. Each 
has his defect, his twist, his craze; and it is by his faults 
that the great man reveals his common humanity. We 


552 


Plutarch's Art. 


ma}', at a distance, admire him as a demigod; but as 
we come nearer to him, we find that he is but a fallible 
man, and our brother. 

Nor are the illustrations of the defects of great men 
without their uses; for, as Dr. Johnson observed, “If 
nothing but the bright side of characters were shown, 
we would sit down- in despondency, and think it utterly 
impossible to imitate them in anything.” Plutarch 
himself justifies his method of portraiture by averring 
that his design was not to write histories, but lives. 
“ The most glorious exploits,” he says, “ do not always 
furnish us with the clearest discoveries of virtue or of 
vice in men. Sometimes a matter of much less mo¬ 
ment, an expression or a jest, better informs us of their 
characters and inclinations than battles with the slaugh¬ 
ter of tens of thousands, and the greater arrays of 
armies or sieges of cities. Therefore, as portrait-paint¬ 
ers are more exact in their lines and features of the 
face and the expression of the eyes, in which the char¬ 
acter is seen, without troubling themselves about the 
other parts of the body, so I must be allowed to give 
my more particular attention to the signs and indica¬ 
tions of the souls of men; and while I endeavor by 
these means to portray their lives, I leave important 
events and great battles to be described by others.” 

Things apparently trifling may stand for much in 
biography as well as history, and slight circumstances 
may influence great results. Pascal has remarked that 
if Cleopatra’s nose had been shorter, the whole face of 
the world would probably have been changed. But for 
the amours of Pepin the Fat, the Saracens might have 


558 


Trifles in Biography . 

overrun Europe, as it was his illegitimate son, Charles 
Martel, who overthrew them at Tours, and eventually 
drove them out of France. 

That Sir Walter Scott should have sprained his foot 
in running round the room when a child, may seem 
unworthy of notice in his biography; yet, “ Ivanhoe,” 
iC Old Mortality,” and all the Waverly novels, depended 
upon it. When his son intimated a desire to enter the 
army, Scott wrote to Southey, u I have no title to com¬ 
bat a choice which would have been my own, had not 
my lameness prevented.” So that, had not Scott been 
lame, he might have fought all through the Peninsular 
War, and had his breast covered with medals; but we 
should probably have had none of those works of his 
which have made his name immortal and shed so much 
glory upon his country. Talleyrand also was kept out 
of the army, for which he had been destined, by his 
lameness; but directing his attention to the study of 
books, and eventually of men, he at length took rank 
among the greatest diplomatists of his time. Byron’s 
club-foot had probably not a little to do with deter¬ 
mining his destiny as a poet. Had not his mind been 
embittered and made morbid by his deformity, he might 
never have written a line—he might have been the 
noblest fop of his day. But his misshapen foot stimu¬ 
lated his mind, roused his ardor, threw him upon his 
own resources—and we know with what result. So, 
too, of Scarron, to whose hunchback we probably owe 
his cynical verse; and of Pope, whose satire was in a 
measure the outcome of his deformity—for he was, as 
Johhson described him, “protuberant behind and be- 


554 


Light and Shade . 

fore.” As in portraiture, so in biography—there must 
be light and shade. The portrait painter does not pose 
his sitter so as to bring out his deformities; nor does 
the biographer give undue prominence to the defects of 
the character he portrays. Not many men are so out¬ 
spoken as Cromwell was when he sat to Cooper for his 
miniature: “Paint me as I am,” said he, “warts and 
all.” Yet, if we would have a faithful likeness of faces 
and characters, they must be painted as they are. “ Bi¬ 
ography,” said Sir Walter Scott, “ the most interesting 
of every species of composition, loses all its interest 
with me when the shades and lights of the principal 
characters are not accurately and faithfully detailed. I 
can no more sympathize with a mere eulogist than I 
can with a ranting hero on the stage.” 

While books are among the best companions of old 
age, they are often the best inspirers of youth. The 
first book that makes a deep impression on a young 
man’s mind often constitutes an epoch in his life. It 
may fire the heart, stimulate the enthusiasm, and, by 
directing his efforts into unexpected channels, perma¬ 
nently influence his character. The new book, in which 
we form an intimacy with a new friend, whose mind is 
wiser and riper than our own, may thus form an im¬ 
portant starting-point in the history of life. It may 
sometimes almost be regarded in the light of a new 
birth. 

Good books are among the best of companions, and r 
by elevating the thoughts and aspirations, they act as 
preservatives against low associations. “ A natural 
turn for reading and intellectual pursuits,” says Thomas 


Humanizing Influence of Books. 555 

Hood, u probably preserved me from the moral ship¬ 
wreck so apt to befall those who are deprived in early 
life of their parental pilotage. My books kept me from 
the ring, the dog-pit, the tavern, the saloon. The closest 
associate of Pope and Addison, the mind accustomed to 
the noble though silent discourse of Shakspeare and 
Milton, will hardly seek or put up*with low company 
and slaves.” 

It has been truly said that the best books are those 
which most resemble good actions. They are purify¬ 
ing, elevating, and sustaining; they enlarge and liber¬ 
alize the mind; they preserve it against vulgar world¬ 
liness; they tend to produce high-minded cheerfulness 
and equanimity of character; they fashion and shape, 
and humanize the mind. 

Erasmus, the great scholar, was even of opinion that 
books were the necessaries of life, and clothes the lux¬ 
uries; and he frequently postponed buying the latter 
until he had supplied himself with the former. Plis 
greatest favorites were the writings of Cicero, which 
he says he always felt himself the better for reading. 
“ I can never,” he says, “ read the works of Cicero on 
‘ Old Age, 1 or ‘ Friendship, 1 without fervently pressing 
them to my lips, without being penetrated with ven¬ 
eration for a mind little short of inspired by God 
himself.” It was the accidental perusal of Cicero’s 
“ Hortensius ” which first detached St. Augustine— 
until then a profligate and abandoned sensualist— 
from his immoral life, and started him upon the course 
of inquiry and study which led to his becoming the 
greatest among the Fathers of the Early Church. Sir 


556 


Pleasure in Books. 


William Jones made it a practice to read through, once 
a year, the writings of Cicero, “ whose life, indeed,” 
says his biographer, “ was the great exemplar of his 
own.” 

When the good old Puritan Baxter came to enumer¬ 
ate the valuable and delightful things of which death 
would deprive him, his mind reverted to the pleasures 
he had derived from books and study, “ When I die,” 
he said, “ I must depart, not only from sensual delights, 
but from the more manly pleasures of my studies, 
knowledge, and converse with many wise and godly 
men, must leave my library, and turn over those pleas¬ 
ant books no more.” 




CHAPTEP XXIY. 


COMPANIONSHIP IN MARRIAGE. 


“Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks. 

Shall win my love.”—S hakspeare. 

HE character of men, as of women, is power¬ 
fully influenced by their companionship in all 
the stages of life. We have already spoken 
of the influence of the mother in forming the 
character of her children. She makes the moral at¬ 
mosphere in which they live, and by which their minds 
and souls are nourished, as their bodies are by the 
physical atmosphere they breathe. And while woman 
is the natural cherisher of infancy and the instructor of 
childhood, she is also the guide and counsellor of youth, 
and the confidant and companion of manhood, in her 
various relations of mother, sister, lover and wife. In 
short, the influence of woman more or less affects, for 
good or for evil, the entire destinies of man. The re¬ 
spective social functions and duties of men and women 
are clearly defined by nature. God created man and 
woman, each to do their proper work, each to fill their 
proper sphere. Neither can occupy the position, nor 
perform the functions of the other. Their several voca¬ 
tions are perfectly distinct. 







558 


The Mission of Man and Woman. 


Though companions and equals, yet, as regards the 
measure of their powers, they are unequal. Man is 
stronger, more muscular, and of rougher fiber; woman 
is more delicate, sensitive and nervous. The one ex¬ 
cels in power of brain, the other in qualities of heart; 
and though the head may rule, it is the heart that in¬ 
fluences. Both are alike adapted for the respective 
functions they have to perform in life, and to attempt 
to impose woman’s work upon man would be quite as 
absurd as to attempt to impose man’s work upon 
woman. 

Although man’s qualities belong more to the head, 
and woman’s more to the heart, yet it is not less neces¬ 
sary that man’s heart should be cultivated as well as his 
head, and woman’s head cultivated as well as her heart. 
A heartless man is as much out of keeping in civilized 
society as a stupid and unintelligent woman. The cul¬ 
tivation of all parts of the moral and intellectual na¬ 
ture is requisite to form the man or woman of healthy 
and well-balanced character. Without sympathy or 
consideration for others, man were a poor, stunted, sor¬ 
did, selfish being; and without cultivated intelligence, 
the most beautiful woman were little better than a well- 
dressed doll. 

It is too much the practice to cultivate the weakness 
of woman rather than her strength, and to render her 
attractive rather than self-reliant. Her sensibilities are 
developed at the expense of her health of body as well 
as mind. She lives, moves, and has her being in the 
sympathy of others. She dresses that she may attract, 
and is burdened with accomplishments that she 



559 


Early Education of Both Sexes. 

chosen. Weak, trembling and dependent, she incurs 
the risk of becoming a living embodiment of the Italian 
proverb— u so good that she is good for nothing.” 

On the other hand, the education of young men too 
often errs on the side of selfishness. While the boy is 
encouraged to trust mainly to his own efforts in push¬ 
ing his way in the world, the girl is encouraged to rely 
almost entirely upon others. He is educated with too 
exclusive reference to himself and she is educated with 
exclusive reference to him. He is taught to be self- 
reliant and self-dependent, while she is taught to be dis¬ 
trustful of herself, dependent, and self-sacrificing in all 
things. Thus the intellect of the one is cultivated at 
the expense of the affections, and the affections of the 
other at the expense of the intellect. 

It is unquestionable that the highest qualities of 
woman are displayed in her relationship to others, 
through the medium of her affections. She is the nurse 
whom nature has given to all humankind. She takes 
charge of the helpless, and nourishes and cherishes 
those we love. She is the presiding genius of the fire¬ 
side, where she creates an atmosphere of serenity and 
contentment suitable for the nurture and growth of 
character in its best forms. She is by her very con¬ 
stitution compassionate, gentle, patient, and self-deny¬ 
ing. Loving, hopeful, trustful, her eye sheds bright¬ 
ness everywhere. It shines upon coldness and warms 
it, upon suffering and relieves it, upon sorrow and 
cheers it. 

Woman has been styled the angel of the unfortunate. 
She is ready to help the weak, to raise the fallen, to 


560 


Woman's Aff'edion . 


comfort the suffering. It was characteristic of woman 
that she should have been the first to build and endow 
a hospital. It has been said that wherever a human 
being is suffering his sighs call a woman to his side. 
When Mungo Park, lonely, friendless, and famished, 
after being driven forth from an African village by the 
men, was preparing to spend the night under a tree, 
exposed to the rain and the wild beasts which there 
abounded, a poor negro woman, returning from the la¬ 
bors of the field, took compassion upon him, conducted 
him into her hut, and there gave him food, and succor* 
and shelter. 

The best productions of the poet Goethe, as perhaps 
of most poets, were inspired by woman’s sympathy. 
Of Fraulein von Klettenburg, Lewes says: “On him 
her influence was avowedly very great, not only while 
at Frankfort but subsequent^. It was not so much 
the effect of religious discussion, as the experience it 
gave him of a deeply religious nature. She was neither 
bigot nor prude. Her faith was an inner light which 
shed mild radiance around her. 7 ’ Probably no poet 
owed more to the benign influence of woman than 
Goethe. But he was a man who traded in the loves of 
women—women whom he had attached to him by his 
powers of fascination. “ When he had no woman 
in his heart,” says his latest biographer, “ he was like a 
dissecting surgeon without a subject. He said of Bal¬ 
zac, that each of his best novels seemed dug out of a 
suffering woman’s heart. Balzac might have returned 
the compliment. In reference to his early fondness for 
natural history, Goethe says: “I remember that when 









































































































































Culture of Both Sexes. 


561 


a child I pulled flowers to pieces to see how the petals 
were inserted into the calyx, or even plucked birds to 
observe how the feathers were inserted in their wings.” 
Bettina remarked to Lord Houghton that he treated 
women in much the same fashion. All his loves, high 
and low, were subjected to this kind of vivisection. 
His powers of fascination were extraordinary; and if 
for the purposes of art, he wanted a display of strong 
emotion, he deepened the passion without scruple or 

4 

compunction. 

But while the most characteristic qualities of woman 
are displayed through her sympathies and affections, it 
is also necessary for her own happiness, as a self-de¬ 
pendent being, to develop and strengthen her charac¬ 
ter, by due self-culture, self-reliance, and self-control. 
It is not desirable, even were it possible, to close the 
beautiful avenues of the heart. Self-reliance of the best 
kind does not involve any limitation in the range of 
human sympathy. But the happiness of woman, as of 
man, depends in a great measure upon her individual 
completeness of character. And that self-dependence 
which springs from the due cultivation of the intellect¬ 
ual powers, conjoined with a proper discipline of the 
heart and conscience, will enable her to be more useful 
in life as well as happy; to dispense blessings intelligent¬ 
ly as well as to enjoy them; and most of all those which 
spring from mutual dependence and social sympathy. 

To maintain a high standard of purity in society, the 
culture of both sexes must be in harmony, and keep 
equal pace. A pure womanhood must be accompanied 
by a pure manhood. The same moral law applies alike 
36 


562 


The Sentiment of Love. 

to both. It would be loosening the foundations of vir¬ 
tue to countenance the notion that, because of a differ¬ 
ence in sex, man were at liberty to set morality at defi¬ 
ance, and to do that with impunity which, if done by a 
woman, would stain her character for life. To main¬ 
tain a pure and virtuous condition of society, therefore, 
man as well as woman must be pure and virtuous; both 
alike shunning all acts infringing on the heart, charac¬ 
ter, and conscience—shunning them as poison, which, 
once imbibed, can never be entirely thrown out again, 
but mentally embitters, to a greater or less extent, the 
happiness of after-life. 

Although nature spurns all formal rules and direc¬ 
tions in affairs of love, it might at all events be possi¬ 
ble to implant in young minds such views of character 
as should enable them to discriminate between the true 
and the false, and to accustom them to hold in esteem 
those qualities of moral purity and integrity without 
which life is but a scene of folly and misery. It may 
not be possible to teach young people to love wisely, 
but they may at least be guarded by parental advice 
against the frivolous and despicable passions which so 
often usurp its name. “ Love,” It has been said, “ in 
the common acceptation of the term, is folly; but love, 
in its purity, its loftiness, its unselfishness, is not only 
a consequence, but a proof, of our moral excellence. 
The sensibility to moral beauty, the forgetfulness of 
self in the admiration engendered by it, all prove its 
claim to a high moral influence. It is the triumph of 
the unselfish over the selfish part of our nature.” 

It is by means of this divine passion that the world 


Love an hispirer. 


563 


is kept ever fresh and young. It is the perpetual mel¬ 
ody of humanity. It sheds an effulgence upon youth, 
and throws a halo round, age. It glorifies the present 
by the light it casts backward, and it lightens the fu¬ 
ture by the beams it casts forward. The love which 
is the outcome of esteem and admiration has an eleva¬ 
tion and purifying effect on the character. It tends to 
emancipate one from the slavery of self. It is alto¬ 
gether unsordid; itself is its only price. It inspires 
gentleness, sympathy, mutual faith, and confidence 
True love also, in a measure, elevates the intellect. 
<l All love renders wise in a degree,” says the poet 
Browning, and the most gifted minds have been the 
sincerest lovers. Great souls make all affections great; 
they elevate and consecrate all true delights. The sen¬ 
timent even brings to light qualities before lying dor¬ 
mant and unsuspected. It elevates the aspirations, ex¬ 
pands the soul, and stimulates the mental powers. One 
of the finest compliments ever paid to a woman was 
that of Steele, when he said of Lady Elizabeth Hast¬ 
ings, “ that to have loved her was a liberal education.” 
Viewed in this light, woman is an educator in the high¬ 
est sense, because, above all other educators, she edu¬ 
cates humanly and lovingly. 

It has been said that no man and no woman can be 
regarded as complete in their experience of life until 
they have been subdued into a union with the world 
through their affections. As woman is not woman un- 
til she has known love, neither is man man. Both are 
requisite to each other’s completeness. Plato enter¬ 
tained the idea that lovers each sought a likeness in the 


564 


Love a Purifier. 


other,- and that love was only the divorced half of the 
original human being entering into union with its coun¬ 
terpart. But philosophy would here seem to be at 
fault, for affection quite as often springs from unlike¬ 
ness as from likeness in its object. 

The true union must needs be one of mind as well as 
of heart, and based on mutual esteem as well as mutual 
affection. u No true and enduring love,’ ’ says Fichte, 
“ can exist without esteem; every other draws regret 
after it, and is unworthy of any noble human soul.” 
One cannot really love the bad, but always something 
that we esteem and respect as well as admire. In short, 
true union must rest on qualities of character, which 
rule in domestic as in public life. 

But there is something far more than mere respect 
and esteem in the union between man and wife. The 
feeling on which it rests is far deeper and tenderer— 
such, indeed, as never exists between men or between 
women. “ In matters of affection,” says Nathaniel 
Hawthorne, u there is always an impassable gulf be¬ 
tween man and man. They can never quite grasp each 
other’s hands, and therefore man never derives any in¬ 
timate help, any heart-sustenance, from his brother 
man, but from woman—his mother, his sister, or his 
wife.” 

Man enters a new world of joy, and sympathy, and 
human interest, through the porch of love. He enters 
a new world in his home—the home of his own making 
—altogether different from the home of his boyhood, 
where each day brings with it a succession of new joys 
and experiences. He enters also, it may be, a new 


Man in the Home. 


565 


world of trials and sorrows, in which he often gathers 
his best culture and discipline. “ Family life,” says 
Sainte-Beuve, “ may be full of thorns and cares, but 
they are fruitful; all others are dry thorns.” And again, 
“If a man’s home, at a certain period of his life, does 
not contain children, it will probably be found filled 
with follies or with vices.” 

A life exclusively occupied in affairs of business in¬ 
sensibly tends to narrow and harden the character. It 
is mainly occupied with self—watching for advantages, 
and guarding against sharp practice on the part of oth¬ 
ers. Thus the character unconsciously tends to grow 
suspicious and ungenerous. The best corrective of such 
influences is always the domestic—by withdrawing the 
mind from thoughts that are wholly gainful, by taking 
it out of its daily rut, and bringing it back to the sanct¬ 
uary of home for refreshment and rest. 

A man’s real character will always be more visible 
in his household than anywhere else; and his practical 
wisdom will be better exhibited by the manner in which 
he bears rule there than even in the larger affairs of 
business or public life. His whole mind may be in his 
business; but, if he would be happy, his whole heart, 
must be in his home. It is there that his genuine quali¬ 
ties most surely display themselves—there that he shows 
his truthfulness, his love, his sympathy, his considera¬ 
tion for others, his uprightness, his manliness—in a 
word, his character. If affection be not the governing 
principle in a household, domestic life may be the most 
intolerable of despotisms. Without justice, also, there 


566 The Woman''s Kingdom . 

can be neither love, confidence, nor respect, on which 
all true domestic rule is founded. 

Erasmus speaks of Sir Thomas Moore’s home as “ a 
school and exercise of the Christian religion.” “ No 
wrangling, no angry word was heard in it; no one was 
idle; everyone did his duty with alacrity, and not with¬ 
out a temperate cheerfulness.” Sir Thomas won all 
hearts to obedience by his gentleness. He was a man 
clothed in household goodness; and he ruled so gently 
and wisely that his home was pervaded by an atmos¬ 
phere of love and duty. He himself spoke of the hourly 
interchange of the smaller acts of kindness with the 
several members of his family, as having a claim upon 
his time as strong as those other public occupations of 
his life which seemed to others so much more serious 
and important. 

But the man whose affections are quickened by home- 
life does not confine his sympathies within that com- 
paratively narrow sphere. His love enlarges in the 
family, and through the family it expands into the 
world. “ Love,” says Emerson, “ is a fire that, kind¬ 
ling its first embers in the narrow nook of a private 
bosom, caught from a wandering spark out of another 
private heart, glows and enlarges until it warms and 
beams upon multitudes of men and women, upon the 
universal heart of all, and so lights up the whole world 
and nature with its generous flames.” 

It is by the regimen of domestic affection that the 
heart of man is best composed and regulated. The 
home is the woman’s kingdom, her state, her world— 


567 


The Wife a Counsellor. 

where she governs by affection, by kindness, by the 
power of gentleness. There is nothing which so settles 
the turbulence of a man’s nature as his union in life 
with a high-minded woman. There he finds rest, con¬ 
tentment, and happiness—rest of brain and peace of 
spirit. He will also often find in her his best counsellor, 
for her instinctive tact will usually lead him right when 
his own unaided reason might be apt to go wrong. 
The true wife is a staff to lean upon in times of trial 
and difficulty; and she is never wanting in sympathy 
and solace when distress occurs or fortune frowns. In 
the time of youth, she is a comfort and an ornament of 
man’s life; and she remains a faithful helpmate in 
maturer years, when life has ceased to be an anticipa¬ 
tion, and we live in its realities. 

What a happy man must Edmund Burke have been, 
when he could say of his home, “ Every care vanishes 
the moment I enter under my own roof! ” And Luther, 
a man full of human affection, speaking of his wife, 
said, “ I would not exchange my poverty 'with her for- 
all the riches of Crcesus 'without her!” Of marriage 
he observed: “ The utmost blessing that God can con¬ 
fer on a man is the possession of a good and pious wife, 
with whom he may live in peace and tranquility— 
to whom he may confide his whole possessions, even 
his life and welfare.” And again he said, “To rise be¬ 
times, and to marry young, are what no man ever re¬ 
pents of doing.” 

A woman’s best qualities do not reside in her intellect 
but in her affections. She gives refreshment by her 
sympathies, rather than by her knowledge. “ The 


568 


“ The Old Oaken Bucket .” 


brain-women,” says Oliver Wendell Holmes, “ never 
interest us like the heart-women.” Men are often so 
wearied with themselves that they are rather predis¬ 
posed to admire qualities and tastes in others different 
from their own. “ If I were suddenly asked,” says Mr. 
Helps, “ to give a proof of the goodness of God to us, 

I think I should say that it is the most manifest in the 
exquisite difference He has made between the souls of 
men and women, so as to create the possibility of the 
most comforting and charming companionship that the 
mind of man can imagine ” 

It is this characteristic sympathy of woman which 
gives to home its charm, and to home and childhood 
reminiscences a sacredness which causes such songs as 
“ Home Sweet Home ” and “ The Old Oaken Bucket ” 
to be the favorites of all classes. When Samuel 
Woodworth wrote “ The Old Oaken Bucket,” he was 
living with his family in New York City. One hot day 
he came into the house and pouring out a, glass of 
.water, drained it eagerly. As he set it down he ex¬ 
claimed, “ That is very refreshing, but how much more 
refreshing would it be to take a good long draught 
from the old oaken bucket I left hanging in my father’s 
well at home!” “Selim,” said his wife, “wouldn’t 
that be a pretty subject for a poem? ” At this sugges¬ 
tion Woodworth seized his pen, and as the home of 
his childhood rose vividly to his fancy, he wrote the 
now familiar words. 

There are few men who have written so wisely on 
the subject of marriage as Sir Henry Taylor. What 
he says about the influence of a happy union in its re- 


569 


Vitalities of the True Wife . 

lation to successful statesmanship applies to all condi¬ 
tions of life. The true wife, he says, should possess 
such qualities as will tend to make home as much as 
may be a place of repose. To this end, she should have 
sense enough or worth enough to exempt her husband 
as much as possible from the troubles of family manage¬ 
ment, and more especially from all possibility of debt. 
u She should be pleasing to his eyes and to his taste; 
the taste goes deep into the nature of all men—love is 
hardly apart from it; and in a life of care and excite¬ 
ment, that home which is not the seat of love can not 
be a place of repose—rest for the brain, and peace for 
the spirit, being only to be had through the softening 
of the affections.' 7 

The true wife takes a sympathy in her husband’s 
pursuits. She cheers him, encourages him, and helps 
him. She enjoys his successes and his pleasures, and 
makes as little as possible over his vexations. In his 
seventy-second year, Faraday, after a long and happy 
marriage, wrote to his wife: u I long to see you, dear- 
ost and to talk over things together, and call to mind 
all the kindnesses I have received. My head is full, 
and my heart also, but my recollection rapidly fails, 
oven as regards the friends that are in the room with 
me. You will have to resume your old function of be¬ 
ing a pillow to my mind, and a rest—a happy-making 
wife.” 

Some persons are disappointed in marriage, because 
they expect too much from it; but many more, because 
they do not bring into the co-partnership their fair 
share of cheerfulness, kindness, forbearance and com- 


570 The Golden Rule in Marriage . 

mon sense. Their imagination has perhaps pictured a 
condition never experienced on this side heaven, and 
when real life comes with its troubles and cares, there 
is a sudden waking-up as from a dream. Or they look 
for something approaching perfection in their chosen 
companion, and discover by experience that the fairest 
of characters have their weaknesses. The golden rule 
of married life is, “bear and forbear.” Marriage, like 
government, is a series of compromises. One must 
give and take, refrain and restrain, endure and be pa¬ 
tient. One may not be blind to another’s failings, but 
they may at least be borne with good-natured forbear¬ 
ance. Of all qualities, good temper is the one that 
wears and works the best in married life. Conjoined 
with self-control, it gives patience—the patience to bear 
and forbear, to listen without retort, to refrain until the 
angry flash has passed. How true it is in marriage 
that “ the soft answer turneth away wrath.” 

It has been said that girls are very good at making 
nets, but that it would be better still if they would 
learn to make cages. Men are often as easily caught 
as birds, but as difficult to keep. If the wife cannot 
make her home bright and happy, so that it shall be 
the cleanest, sweetest, cheerfulest place that her hus¬ 
band can find refuge in—a retreat from the toils and 
troubles of the outer world—then God help the poor 
man, for he is virtually homeless! 

No wise person will marry for beauty mainly. It 
may exercise a powerful attraction in the first place, 
but it is found to be of comparative^ little consequence 
afterwards. Not that beauty of person.is to be under- 


571 


Marrying for Beauty. 

estimated, for, other things being equal, handsomeness 
of torm and beauty of features are the outward mani¬ 
festations of health. But to marry a handsome figure 
without character, fine features unbeautified by senti¬ 
ment or good nature, is the most deplorable of mistakes. 
As even the finest landscape, seen daily, becomes mo¬ 
notonous, so does the most beautiful face, unless a beau¬ 
tiful nature shines through it. The beauty of to-day 
becomes commonplace to-morrow; whereas goodness, 
displayed through the most ordinary features, is peren¬ 
nially lovely. Moreover this kind of beauty improves 
with age, and time ripens rather than destroys it. Af¬ 
ter the first year, married people rarely think of each 
other’s features, and whether they be classically beau¬ 
tiful or otherwise. But they never fail to be cognizant 
of each other’s temper. “ When I see a man,” says 
Addison, “ with a sour, riveled face, I cannot forbear 
pitying his wife; and when I meet with an open, in¬ 
genuous countenance, I think of the happiness of his 
friends, his family and his relations.” 

A man’s moral character is, necessarily, powerfully 
influenced by his wife. A lower nature will drag him 
down, as a higher will lift him up. The former will 
deaden his sympathies, dissipate his energies and dis¬ 
tort his life; while the latter, by satisfying his affec¬ 
tions, will strengthen his moral nature, and, by giving 
him repose, tend to energize his intellect. Not only so, 
but a woman of high principles will insensibly elevate the 
aims and purposes of her husband, as one of low princi¬ 
ples will unconsciously degrade them. De Tocqueville 
was profoundly impressed by this truth. He enter- 


572 De Tocqueville on Marriage . 

tained the opinion that man could have no such main* 
stay in life as the companionship of a wife of good tem¬ 
per and high principle. He says that, in the course of 
his life, he had seen even weak men display real public 
virtue, because they had by their side a woman of noble 
character, who sustained them in their career, and exer¬ 
cised a fortifying influence on their views of public duty; 
while, on the contrary, he had still oftener seen men 
of great and generous instincts transformed into vulgar 
self-seekers, by contact with women of narrow natures, 
devoted to an imbecile love of pleasure, and from whose 
minds the grand motive of Duty was altogether absent. 
De Tocqueville himself had the good fortune to be 
blessed with an admirable wife; and in his letters to 
his intimate friends he spoke most gratefully of the 
comfort and support he derived from her sustaining 
courage, her equanimity of temper, and her nobility of 
character. The more, indeed, that De Tocqueville saw 
of the world and of practical life, the more convinced he 
became of the necessity of healthy domestic conditions 
for a man’s growth in virtue and goodness. Especially 
did he regard marriage as of inestimable importance 
in regard to man and woman’s true happiness; and he 
was accustomed to speak of his own as the wisest ac¬ 
tion of his life. Writing to his bosom friend, De Ker- 
gorlay, he said: “ Of all the blessings which God has 
given me, the greatest of all, in my eyes, is to have 
lighted on Marie. You can not imagine what she is in 
great trials. Usually so gentle, she then becomes 
strong and energetic. She watches me without my 
knowing it; she softens, calms, and strengthens me in 


573 


M. Guizot's Noble Wife. 

difficulties which disturb me but leave her serene.” In 
another letter he says; “I can not describe to you the 
happiness yielded in the long run by the habitual so¬ 
ciety of a woman in whose soul all that is good in your 
own is reflected naturally, and even improved. When 
I say or do a thing which seems to me to be perfectly 
right, I read in Marie’s countenance an expression of 
proud satisfaction which elevates me. And so, when 
my conscience reproaches me, her face instantly clouds 
over. Although I have great power over her mind, I 
see with pleasure that she awes me; and so long as I 
love her as I do now, I am sure that I shall never allow 
myself to be drawn into any thing that is wrong.” 

M. Guizot was in like manner sustained and encour¬ 
aged, amidst his many vicissitudes and disappointments, 
by his noble wife. If he was treated with harshness by 
his political enemies, his consolation was in the tender 
affection which filled his home with sunshine. Though 
his public life was bracing and stimulating, he felt, nev¬ 
ertheless, that it was cold and calculating, and neither 
filled the soul nor elevated the character. “ Man longs 
for a happiness,” he says in his “ Memoires,” “ more 
complete and more tender than that which all the labors 
and triumphs of active exertion and public importance 
can bestow. What I know to-day, at the end of my 
race, I have felt when it began, and during its continu¬ 
ance. Even in the midst of great undertakings, domes¬ 
tic affections form the basis of life; and the most bril¬ 
liant career has only superficial and incomplete enjoy¬ 
ments, if a stranger to the happy ties of family and 
friendship,” 


574 


Moral Influence of a Wife. 


We have spoken of the influence of a wife upon a 
man’s character. There are few men strong enough 
to resist thp influence of a lower character in a wife. 
If she do not sustain and elevate what is highest in his 
nature, she will speedily reduce him to her own level. 
Thus a wife may be the making or the unmaking of the 
best of men. 

Sir Samuel Romilly left behind him, in his Autobiog¬ 
raphy, a touching picture of his wife, to whom he at¬ 
tributed no small measure of the success and happiness 
that accompanied him through life. “ For the last 
fifteen years,” he said, “ my happiness has been the 
constant study of the most excellent of wives—a woman 
in whom a strong understanding, the noblest and most 
elevated sentiments, and the most courageous virtue, 
are united to the warmest affection and to the utmost 
delicacy of mind and heart; and all these intellectual 
perfections are graced by the most splendid beauty that 
human eyes ever beheld.” Romilly’s affection and ad¬ 
miration for this noble woman endured to the end; 
and when she died the shock proved greater than his 
sensitive nature could bear. Sleep left his eyelids, his 
mind became unhinged^ and three days after her death 
the sad event occurred which brought his own valued 
life to a close. Sir Francis Burdett, to whom Romilly 
had been often politically opposed, fell into such a state 
of profound melancholy on the death of his wife that 
he persistently refused nourishment of any kind, and 
died before the removal of her remains from the house; 
and husband and wife were laid side by side in the same 


grave. 


575 


Wives of Scientific Men . 

Not only have women been the best companions, 
friends, and counselors, but they have in many cases 
been the most effective helpers of their husbands in 
special lines .of work. Galvani was especially happy 
in his wife. It is said to have been through her quick 
observation of the circumstance of the leg of a frog, 
placed near an electrical machine, becoming convulsed 
when touched by a knife, that her husband was first led 
to investigate the science which has since become identi¬ 
fied with his name. Lavoisier’s wife also was a woman 
of real scientific ability, who not only shared in her 
husband’s pursuits, but even undertook the task of 
engraving the plates that accompanied his “Elements.” 

The late Dr. Buckland had another true helper in 
his wife, who assisted him with her pen, prepared and 
mended his fossils, and furnished many of the drawings 
and illustrations of his published works. “ Notwith 
standing her devotion to her husband’s pursuits,” says 
her son, Frank Buckland, in the preface to one of his 
father’s works, “ she did not neglect the education of 
her children, but occupied her mornings in superintend 
ing their instruction in sound and useful knowledge. 
The sterling value of her labors they now in after-life 
fully appreciate, and feel most thankful that they were 
blessed with so good a mother.” 

A still more remarkable instance of helpfulness in a 
wife is presented in the case of Huber the Geneva 
naturalist. Huber was blind from his seventeenth year, 
and yet he found means to study and master a branch 
of natural history demanding the closest observation 
and the keenest eyesight. It was through the eyes of 


576 Sir William and Lady Hamilton. 

his wife that his mind worked as if they had been his 
own. She encouraged her husband’s studies as a means 
of alleviating his privation, which at length he came 
to forget; and his life was as prolonged and happy as 
is usual with naturalists. He even went so far as to 
declare that he should be miserable were he to regain 
his eyesight. “ I should not know,” he said, u to what 
extent a person in my situation could be beloved; be¬ 
sides, to me my wife is always young, fresh, and pretty, 
which is no light matter.” Huber’s great work on 
“ Bees ” is still regarded as a masterpiece, embodying 
a vast amount of original observation on their habits 
and natural history. Indeed, while reading his descrip¬ 
tions, one would suppose that they were the work of 
a singularly keen-sighted man, rather than of one who 
had been entirely blind for twenty-five years at the 
time at which he wrote them. 

Not less touching was the devotion of Lady Ham¬ 
ilton to the service of her husband, the late Sir William 
Hamilton. After he had been stricken by paralysis 
through overwork at the age of fifty-six, she became 
hands, eyes, mind and everything to him. She identi¬ 
fied herself with his work, read and consulted books 
for him, copied out and corrected his lectures, and re¬ 
lieved him of all business which she felt herself compe¬ 
tent to undertake. Indeed, her conduct as a wife was 
nothing short of heroic, and it is probable that but for 
her devoted and more than wifely help, and her rare 
practical ability, the greatest of her husband’s works 
would never have seen the light. He was by nature 
unmethodical and disorderly, and she supplied him with 


Woman as a Fellow-worker . 577 

method and order. His temperament was studious but 
indolent, while she was active and energetic. She 
abounded in the qualities which he most lacked. He 
had the genius, to which her vigorous nature gave the 
force and impulse. 

When Sir William Hamilton was elected to his pro¬ 
fessorship, after a severe and even bitter contest, his 
opponents, professing to regard him as a visionary, pre¬ 
dicted that he could never teach a class of students, 
and that his appointment would prove a total failure. 
He determined, with the help of his wife, to justify the 
choice of his supporters, and to prove that his enemies 
were false prophets. Having no stock of lectures on 
hand, each lecture of the first course was written out 
day by day, as it was to be delivered on the following 
morning. His wife sat up with him night after night, 
to write out a fair copy of the lectures from the rough 
sheets, which he drafted in the adjoining room. “ On 
some occasions,” says his biographer, “ the subject of 
the lecture would prove less easily managed than on 
others, and then Sir William would be found writing 
as late as nine o'clock in the morning, while his faith¬ 
ful but wearied amanuensis had fallen asleep on a sofa.” 
Sometimes the finishing touches to the lecture were 
left to be given just before the class-hour. Thus helped, 
Sir William completed his course; his reputation as a 
lecturer was established, and he eventually became 
recognized throughout Europe as one of the leading 
intellects of his time. 

The woman who soothes anxiety by her presence, 
3 7 


578 


John Stuart Mill — Carlyle . 

who charms and allays irritability by her sweetness of 
temper, is a consoler as well as a true helper. Niebuhr 
always spoke of his wife as a fellow-worker with him 
in this sense. Without the peace and consolation which 
he found in her society, his nature would have fretted 
in comparative uselessness. u Her sweetness of temper 
and her love,” said he, “ raise me above the earth, and 
in a manner separate me from this life.” But she was 
a helper in another and more direct way. Niebuhr was 
accustomed to discuss with his wife every historical 
discovery, every political event, every novelty in liter¬ 
ature; and it was mainly for her pleasure and appro¬ 
bation, in the first instance, that he labored while pre¬ 
paring himself for the instruction of the world at large. 

The wife of John Stuart Mill was another worthy 
helper of her husband, though in a more abstruse de¬ 
partment of study, as we learn from his touching dedi¬ 
cation of the‘treatise “ On Liberty.” “ To the beloved 
and deplored memory of her who was the inspirer, and 
in part the author, of all that is best in my writings— 
the friend and wife, whose exalted sense of truth and 
right was my strongest incitement, and whose approba¬ 
tion was my chief reward, I dedicate this volume.” 

Not less touching is the testimony borne by another * 
great living writer to the character of his wife, in the 
inscription upon the tombstone of Mrs. Carlyle, where 
are inscribed these words : “ In her bright existence she 
had more sorrows than are common, but also a soft 
amiability, a capacity of discernment, and a noble 
loyalty of heart, which are rare. For forty years she 


Woman as a Consoler. 


579 


was the true and loving helpmate of her husband, and 
by act and word unweariedly forwarded him as none 
else could in all of worth that he did or attempted.” 

Besides being a helper, woman is emphatically a 
consoler. Her sympathy is unfailing. She soothes, 
cheers, and comforts. Never was this more true than 
in the case of the wife of Tom Hood, whose tender de¬ 
votions to him, during a life that was a prolonged ill¬ 
ness, is one of the most affecting things in biography. 
A woman of excellent good sense, she appreciated her 
husband’s genius, and, by encouragement and sympathy, 
cheered and heartened him to renewed efforts in many 
a weary struggle for life. She created about him an 
atmosphere of hope and cheerfulness, and no where did 
the sunshine of her love seem so bright as when lighting 
up the couch of her invalid husband. Nor was he un¬ 
conscious of her worth In one of his letters to her, 
when absent from his side, Hood said: “ I never was 
any thing, dearest, till I knew you; and I have been a 
better, happier, and more prosperous man ever since. 
Lay by that truth in lavender, sweetest, and remind me 
of it when I fail. I am writing warmly and fondly, but 
not without good cause. First, your own affectionate 
letter, lately received; next, the remembrance of our 
dear children, pledges—what darling ones!—of our old 
familiar love; then, a delicious impulse to pour out the 
overflowings of my heart into yours; and last, not 
least, the knowledge that your dear eyes will read what 
my hand is now writing. Perhaps there is an after¬ 
thought that, whatever may befall me, the wife of my 
bosom will have the acknowledgment of her tender- 


580 


A Galaxy of Noble Wives . 


ness, worth, excellence—all that is wifely or womanly 
—from my pen.” • 

Many other similar true-hearted wives rise up in the 
memory, to recite whose praises would more than fill 
up our remaining space—such as Flaxman’s wife, Ann 
Denham, who cheered and encouraged her husband 
through life in the prosecution of his art, accompanying 
him to Rome, sharing in his labors and anxieties, and 
finally in his triumphs, and to whom Flaxman, in the 
fortieth year of their married life, dedicated his beauti¬ 
ful designs illustrative of Faith, Hope, and Charity, in 
token of his deep and undimmed affection—such as 
Katherine Boutcher “ dark-eyed Kate,” the wife of 
William Blake, who believed her husband to be the 
first genius on earth, worked off the impressions of his 
plates and colored them beautifully with her own hand, 
bore with him in all his erratic ways, sympathized with 
him in his sorrows and joys for forty-five years, and 
comforted him until his dying hour—his last sketch, 
made in his seventy-first year, being a likeness of him¬ 
self, before making which, seeing his wife crying by his 
side, he said, “ Stay, Kate! just keep as you are; I will 
draw your portrait, for you have ever been an angel to 
me.” 

Trial and sufferings are the tests of married life. 
They bring out the real character, and often tend to 
produce the closest union. They may even be the 
spring of the purest happiness. Uninterrupted joy, 
like uninterrupted success, is not good for either rrian 
or woman. When Heine’s wife died, he began to re¬ 
flect upon the loss he had sustained. They had both 


Sentiment in German Love . 581 

known poverty, and struggled through it hand in hand, 
and it was his greatest sorrow that she was taken from 
him at the moment when fortune was beginning to 
smile upon him, but too late for her to share in his 
prosperity. “ Alas,” said he, “ among my griefs must 
I reckon even her love—the strongest, truest, that ever 
inspired the heart of woman—which made me the hap¬ 
piest of mortals, and yet was to me a fountain of a 
thousand distresses, inquietudes and cares? To entire 
cheerfulness, perhaps, she never attained, but for what 
unspeakable sweetness, what exalted enrapturing joys, 
is not love indebted to sorrow! Amidst growing anx¬ 
ieties, with the torture of anguish in my heart, I have 
been made, even by the loss which caused me this an¬ 
guish and these anxieties, inexpressibly happy! When 
tears flowed over our cheeks, did not a namelesss, sel¬ 
dom-felt delight stream through my breast, oppressed 
equally by joy and sorrow!” 

There is a degree of sentiment in German love which 
seems strange to English readers. The German be¬ 
trothal is a ceremony of almost equal importance to 
the marriage itself, and in that state the sentiments are 
allowed free play, while English lovers are restrained, 
shy, and as if ashamed of their feelings. Take, for 
instance, the case of Herder, whom his future wife first 
saw in the pulpit. “ I heard,” she says, “ the voice of 
an angel, and soul’s words such as I had never heard 
before. In the afternoon I saw him, and stammered 
out my thanks to him; from this time forth our souls 
were one.” They were betrothed long before their 
means would permit them to marry, but at length they 


582 


Fichte's Courtship 


were united. “We were married,” says Caroline, the 
wife, “by the rose-light of a beautiful evening. We 
were one heart, one soul.” Herder was equally ecstatic 
in his language. “ I have a wife,” he wrote, “ that is 
the tree, the consolation, and the happiness of my life. 
Even in flying, transient thoughts (which often surprise 
us), we are one.” 

Take, again, the case of Fichte, in whose history 
his courtship and marriage form a beautiful episode. 
He was a poor German student, living with a family at 
Zurich in the capacity of tutor, when he first made the 
acquaintance of Johanna Maria Rahn. Her position in 
life was higher than that of Fichte; nevertheless she re¬ 
garded him with sincere admiration. When Fichte 
was about to leave Zurich, his troth plighted to her, 
she, knowing him to be very poor, offered him a gift 
of money before setting out. He was inexpressibly 
hurt by the offer, and, at first, even doubted whether 
she could really love him, but, on second thought, he 
wrote to her expressing his deep thanks, but at the 
same time, the impossibility of him accepting such a 
gift from her. He succeeded in reaching his destina¬ 
tion, though entirely destitute of means. After a long 
and hard struggle with the world, extending over many 
years, Fichte was at length earning money enough to 
enable him to marry. In one of his charming letters 
to his betrothed he said. “ And so, dearest, I solemnly 
devote myself to thee, and thank thee that thou hast 
thought me not unworthy to be thy companion on the 
journey of life. There is no land of happiness here be¬ 
low, I know it now, but a land of toil, where every joy 


William Cobbetfs Courtship. 583 

but strengthens us for greater labor. Hand in hand we 
shall traverse it, and encourage and strengthen each 
other, until our spirits—oh, may it be together!—shall 
rise to the eternal fountain of all peace.” 

What a contrast does the courtship and married life 
of the blunt and practical William Cobbett present to 
the aesthetical and sentimental love of these highly re¬ 
fined Germans! When he first set eyes upon the girl 
that was afterwards to become his wife, she was only 
thirteen years old, and he was twenty-one—a sergeant- 
major in a foot regiment stationed at St. John’s, in New 
Brunswick. He was passing the door of her father’s 
house one day in winter, and saw the girl out in the 
snow, scrubbing a washing-tub. He said at once to 
himself, “ that s the girl for me.” He made her ac¬ 
quaintance, and resolved that she should be his wife so 
soon as he could get discharged from the army. On 
the eve of the girl’s return to Woolwich with her 
father, who was a sergeant-major in the artillery, Cob¬ 
bett sent her a hundred and fifty guineas which he had 
saved, in order that she might be able to live without 
hard work until his return to England. The girl de¬ 
parted, taking with her the money, and five years later 
Cobbett obtained his discharge. On reaching London, 
he made haste to call upon the sergeant-major’s daugh¬ 
ter. “ I found,” he says, “ my little girl a servant-of- 
all-work (and hard work it was), at five pounds a year, 
in the house of a Captain Brisac, and, without hardly 
saying a word about the matter, she put into my hands 
the whole of my hundred and fifty guineas, unbroken,” 

Admiration of her conduct was now added to love of 
» 


584 


Cobbett and his Wife. 


her person, and Cobbett shortly after married the girl, 
who proved an excellent wife. He was, indeed, never 
tired of speaking her praises, and it was his pride to at¬ 
tribute to her all the comfort and much of the success 
of his after-life. 



% . 


CHAPTER XXV. 


EX AMPLE—MODELS. 

“ Children may be strangled, but Deeds never; they have an indestructible 
life, both in and out of our consciousness.’’— George Eliot. 

“ There is no action of man in this life, which is not the beginning of so long 
a chain of consequences, as that no human providence is high enough to give 
us a prospect to the end.”— Thomas of Malmesbury. 

X AMPLE is one of the most potent of instruct¬ 
ors, though it teaches without a tongue. It 
is the practical school of mankind, working by 
action, which is always more forcible than 
words. Precept may point to us the way, but it is 
silent, continuous example, conveyed to us by habits, 
and living with us in fact, that carries us along. Good 
advice has its weight; but without the acco'mpaniment 
of a good example it is of comparatively small influ¬ 
ence; and it will be found that the common saying of 
“ Do as I say, not as I do ” is usually reversed in the 
actual experience of life. 

All persons are more or less apt to learn through the 
‘eye rather than the ear; and, whatever is seen in fact, 
makes a far deeper impression than any thing that is 
merely read or heard. This is especially the case in 
early youth, when the eye is the chief inlet of knowl¬ 
edge. Whatever children see they unconsciously imitate. 







586 


Home Influence 


They insensibly come to resemble those who are about 
them—as insects take the color of the leaves they feed 
on. Hence the vast importance of domestic training. 
For whatever may be the efficiency of schools, the ex¬ 
amples set in our homes must always be of vastly 
greater influence in forming the characters of our future 
men and women. The home is the crystal of society 
—the nucleus of national character; and from that 
source, be it pure or tainted, issue the habits, principles, 
and maxims which govern public as well as private 
life. The nation comes from the nursery. 

Example in conduct, therefore, even in apparently 
trivial matters, is of no light moment, inasmuch as it is 
constantly becoming inwoven with the lives of others* 
and contributing to form their natures for better or for 
worse. The characters of parents are thus constantly 
repeated in their children; and the acts of affection, 
discipline, industry, and self-control, which they daily 
exemplify, live and act when all else which may have 
been learned through the ear has long been forgotten. 
Hence a wise man was accustomed to speak of his 
children as his “ future state.” Even the mute action 
and unconscious look of a parent may give a stamp to 
the character which is never effaced; and who can tell 
how much evil action has been stayed by the thought 
of some good parent, whose memory their children may 
not sully by the commission of an unworthy deed, or 
the indulgence of an impure thought? The veriest 
trifles thus become of importance in influencing the 
characters of men. “ A kiss from my mother,” said 
West, “ made me a painter.” It is on the direction of 
































































Parental Example. 587 

such seeming trifles when children that the future hap¬ 
piness and success of men mainly depend. Fowell 
Buxton, when occupying an eminent and influential sta¬ 
tion in life, wrote to his mother, “ I constantly feel, 
especially in action and exertion for others, the effects 
of principles early implanted by you in my mind.” 
Buxton was also accustomed to remember with grati¬ 
tude the obligations which he owed to an illiterate man, 
a game-keeper, named Abraham Plastow, with whom 
he played, and rode, and sported—a man who could 
neither read nor write, but was full of natural good 
sense and mother wit. “ What made him particularly 
valuable,” says Buxton, “were his principles of in¬ 
tegrity and honor. He never said or did a thing in 
the absence of my mother of which she would have 
disapproved. He always held up the highest standard 
of integrity, and filled our youthful minds with senti¬ 
ments as pure and as generous as could be found in the 
writings of Seneca or Cicero. Such was my first in¬ 
structor and, I must add, my best.” 

Early impressions' are most lasting, and hence it is 
that parents cannot be too guarded in the example set 
before children. The Rev. John Newton’s career is a 
striking example of the permanency of early impres¬ 
sions. His devout mother died when he was but six 
years of age. Although this event practically ended 
his moral education, the instruction received in those 
early years was not lost. Though apparently forgotten 
amid the dissipation of his sea-faring life, the impres¬ 
sions received were never wholly dismissed. Though 
the immediate cause of his reform was a dream at sea, 


588 


Early Impressions. 


yet the efficient cause was the quiet and apparently urn 
eventful years of earliest childhood spent in a humble 
cottage home. 

A curious circumstance is related by a survivor of 
the wreck of the “ Central America,” which sailed 
from Havana in 1847, anc ^ sunk in mkhocean. He 
had been some hours in the water, and had floated away 
from the rest, when the voice of his mother sounded in 
his ears. Years had passed t away since he, a thought 
less child, had stolen one evening into the room of a 
dying sister, and devoured some grapes which had been 
placed beside her bed for her refreshment during the 
night. Terrified at his selfishness, he had slunk off to 
his chamber, but his mother, guessing who was the 
guilty intruder, had come to him and said, “Johnny, 
did you eat sister’s grapes? ” And now those words, 
uttered in a reproachful tone, again sounded distinctly 
in his ear, and he saw the pale face and tearful eyes of 
his mother as she turned away and left him. The act 
had wounded his conscience, but had long since been 
forgotten. Now, however, it rose upon his mind with 
a clearness and force which were appalling 

Lord Langdale, looking back upon the admirable ex 
ample set him by his mother, declared, “ If the whole 
world were put into one scale, and my mother into the 
other, the world would kick the beam.” Mrs. Pennick, 
in her old age, was accustomed to call to mind the per 
sonal influence exercised by her mother upon the society 
amidst which she moved. When she entered a room 
it had the effect of immediately raising the tone of the 
conversation, and as if purifying the moral atmosphere 


Immortality of Human Deeds . 589 

—all seeming to breathe more freely and stand more 
erectly. “ In her presence,” says the daughter, “ I be¬ 
came for the time transformed into another person.” 
So much does the moral health depend upon the moral 
atmosphere that is breathed, and so great is the influ¬ 
ence daily exercised by parents over their children by 
living a life before their eyes, that perhaps the best 
system of parental instruction might be summed up in 
these two words: “ Improve thyself.” 

There is, indeed, an essence of immortality in the life 
of man, even in this world. No individual in the uni¬ 
verse stands alone ; he is a component part of a system 
of mutual dependencies; and by his several acts he 
either increases or diminishes the sum of human good 
now and forever. As the present is rooted in the past, 
and the lives and examples of our forefathers still to a 
great extent influence us, so are we by our daily acts 
contributing to form the condition and character of 
the future. Man is a fruit formed and ripened by the 
culture of all the foregoing centuries; and the living 
generation continues the magnetic current of action 
and example destined to bind the remotest past with 
the most distant future. No man’s acts die utterly; 
and though his body may resolve into dust and air, 
his good or his bad deeds will still be bringing forth 
fruit after their kind, and influencing future generations 
for all time to come. It is in this momentous and 
solemn fact that the great peril and responsibility of 
human existence lies. 

Thus, every act we do or word we utter, as well as 
every act we witness or word we hear, carries with it 


590 Importance of Good Example . 

an influence which extends over, and gives a color, not 
only to the whole of our future life, but makes itself 
felt upon the whole frame of society. We may not, 
and indeed can not, possibly, trace the influence work¬ 
ing itself into action in its various ramifications amongst 
our children, our friends, or associates; yet there it is 
assuredly, working on forever. And herein lies the 
great significance of setting forth a good example—a 
silent teaching which even the poorest and least signifi¬ 
cant person can practice in his daily life. There is no 
one so humble, but that he owes to others this simple 
but priceless instruction. Even the meanest condition 
may thus be made useful; for the light set in a low 
place shines as faithfully as that set upon a hill. Every¬ 
where, and under almost all circumstances, however 
externally adverse—in moorland districts, in cottage 
hamlets, in the close alleys of great towns—the true 
man may grow. He who tills a space of earth scarce 
bigger than is needed for his grave, may work as faith¬ 
fully, and to as good purpose, as the heir of thousands. 
The commonest workshop may thus be a school of 
industry, science, and good morals, on the one hand; 
or of idleness, folly, and depravity, on the other. It 
all depends on the individual men, and the use they 
make of the opportunities for good which offer them¬ 
selves. 

A life well spent, a character uprightly sustained, is 
no slight legacy to leave to one’s children, and to the 
world; for it is the most eloquent lesson of virtue and 
the severest reproof of vice, while it continues an en¬ 
during source of the best kind of riches. Well for 


Dr. Guthrie. 


591 


those who can say, as Pope did, in rejoinder to the 
sarcasm of Lord Hervey, “ I think it enough that my 
parents, such as they were, never cost me a blush, and 
that their son, such as he is, never cost them a tear.” 

True-hearted persons, even in the humblest station in 
life, who are energetic doers, may give an impulse to 
good works out of all proportion, apparently, to their 
actual station in society. Thomas Wright might have 
talked about the reclamation of criminals, and John 
Pounds about the necessity for Ragged Schools, and 
yet done nothing; instead of which they simply set 
to work without any other idea in their minds than that 
of doing, not talking. And how the example of even 
the poorest man may tell upon society, hear what Dr. 
Guthrie, the apostle of the Ragged School movement, 
says of the influence which the example of John Pounds, 
the humble Portsmouth cobbler, exercised upon his 
own working career:— 

“The interest I have been led to take in this cause 
is an example of how a man’s destiny—his course of 
life, like that of a river—may be determined and af¬ 
fected by very trivial circumstances. It is rather cu¬ 
rious—at least it is interesting to me to remember— 
that it was by a picture I was first led to take an in¬ 
terest in ragged schools—by a picture in an old, obscure, 
decaying burgh that stands on the shores of the Frith 
of Forth, the birth-place of Thomas Chalmers. I went 
to see this place many years ago; and, going into an 
inn for refreshment, I found the room covered with pic¬ 
tures of shepherdesses with their crooks, and sailors in 
holiday attire, not particularly interesting. But above 


592 


John Pounds. 


the chimney-piece there was a large print, more respect¬ 
able than its neighbors, which represented a cobbler’s 
room. The cobbler was there himself, spectacles on 
nose, an old shoe between his knees—the massive fore¬ 
head and firm mouth indicating great determination 
of character, and beneath his bushy eyebrows, benevo¬ 
lence gleamed out on a number of poor ragged boys 
and girls who stood at their lessons round the busy 
cobbler. My curiosity was awakened; and in the in¬ 
scription I read how this man, John Pounds, a cobbler 
in Portsmouth, taking pity on the multitude of poor 
ragged children left by ministers and magistrates, and 
ladies and gentlemen, to go to ruin on the streets—how, 
like a good shepherd, he gathered in these wretched 
outcasts—how he had trained them to God and to the 
world—and how, while earning his daily bread by the 
sweat of his brow, he had rescued from misery and 
saved to society not less than five hundred of these 
children. I felt ashamed of myself. I felt reproved 
for the little I had done. My feelings were touched. 
I was astonished at this man’s achievements; and I 
well remember, in the enthusiasm of the moment, say¬ 
ing to my companion—‘ That man is an honor to hu¬ 
manity, and deserves the tallest monument ever raised 
within the shores of Britain.’ I took up that man’s 
history, and I found it animated by the spirit of Him 
who ‘had compassion on the multitude.’ John Pounds 
was a man of tact besides; and, like Paul, if he could 
not win a poor boy any other way, he won him by 
art. He would be seen chasing a ragged boy along the 
quays, and compeling him to come to school, not by 


593 


Good Models of Character . 

the power of a policeman, but by the power of a hot 
potato. He knew the love an Irishman had for a potato; 
and John Pounds might be seen running holding under 
the boy’s nose a potato, like an Irishman, very hot, and 
with a coat as ragged as himself. When the day comes 
when honor will be done to whom honor is due, I can 
fancy the crowd of those whose fame poets have sung, 
and to whose memory monuments have been raised, 
dividing like the wave, and, passing the great, and the 
noble, and the mighty of the land, this poor, obscure, 
old man stepping forward and receiving the especial 
notice of Him who said, ‘ Inasmuch as ye did it to one 
of the least of these, ye did it also to Me.’” 

The education of character is very much a question 
of models; we mould ourselves so unconsciously after 
the characters, manners, habits and opinions of those 
who are about us. Good rules may do much, but good 
models far more; for in the latter we have instruction 
in action—wisdom at work. Good admonition and bad 
example only build with one hand and pull down with 
the other. Hence the vast importance of exercising 
great care in the selection of companions, especially in 
youth. There is a magnetic affinity in young persons 
which insensibly tends to assimilate them to each other’s 
likeness. Mr. Edgeworth was so strongly convinced 
that from sympathy they involuntarily imitated or 
caught the tone of the company they frequented, that 
he held it to be of the most essential importance that 
they should be taught to select the very best models. 
u No company, or good company,” was his motto. 
Lord Collingwood, writing to a young friend, said, 
38 


594 


Personal Influence. 


“ Hold it as a maxim, that you had better be alone 
than in mean company. Let your companions be such 
as yourself or superior; for the worth of a man. will 
always be ruled by that of his company.” It was a re¬ 
mark of the famous Dr. Sydenham that every body 
some time or other would be the better or the worse 
for having but spoken to a good or a bad man. As 
Sir Peter Lely made it a rule never to look at a bad 
picture if he could help it, believing that whenever he 
did so his pencil caught a taint from it, so, whoever 
chooses to gaze often upon a debased specimen of 
humanity and to frequent his society, can not help 
gradually assimilating himself to that sort of model. 
It is therefore advisable for young men to seek the fel¬ 
lowship of the good, and always to aim at a higher 
standard than themselves. Francis Horner, speaking 
of the advantages to himself of direct personal inter¬ 
course with high-minded, intelligent men, said, “I can 
not hesitate to decide that I have derived more intel¬ 
lectual improvement from them than from all the books 
I have turned over.” 

Contact with the good never fails to impart good, 
and we carry away with us some of the blessing, as 
travellers’ garments retain the odor of the flowers and 
shrubs through which they have passed. Those who 
knew the late John Sterling intimately, have spoken of 
the beneficial influence which he exercised on all with 
whom he came into personal contact. Many owed to 
him their first awakening to a higher being; from him 
they learnt what they were, and what they ought to be. 
Mr. Trench says of him: “ It was impossible to come 


595 


Use of Biography. 

in contact with his noble nature without feeling one’s 
self in some measure ennobled and lifted up, as I ever 
felt when I left him, into a higher region of objects and 
aims than that in which one is tempted habitually to 
dwell.” It is thus that the noble character always acts; 
we become insensibly elevated by him, and can not 
help feeling as he does, and acquiring the habit of look- 
iug at things in the same light. Such is the magical 
action and reaction of minds upon each other. 

The chief use of biography consists in the noble 
models of character in which it abounds. Our great 
forefathers still live among us in the records of their 
lives, as well as in the acts they have done, which live 
also; still sit by us at table, and hold us by the hand; 
furnishing examples for our benefit, which we may still 
study, admire, and imitate. Indeed, whoever has left 
behind him the record of a noble life, has bequeathed 
to posterity an enduring source of good, for it serves 
as a model for others to form themselves by in all time 
to come; still breathing fresh life into men, helping 
them to reproduce • his life anew, and to illustrate his 
character in other forms. Hence a book containing 
the life of a true man is full of precious seed. It is 
a still living voice; it is an intellect. To use Milton’s 
words, “ It is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, 
embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond 
life.” 

Franklin was accustomed to attribute his usefulness 
and eminence to his having early read Cotton Mather’s 
“ Essays to do good,” a book which grew out of 
Mather’s own life. And see how good example draws 


596 


Inspiring Books. 


other men after it, and propagates itself through future 
generations in all lands, for Samuel Drew avers that 
he framed his own life, and especially his business hab¬ 
its, after the model left on record by Benjamin Frank¬ 
lin. Thus it is impossible to say where a good exam¬ 
ple may not reach, or wh£re it will end, if indeed it 
have an end. Hence the advantage, in literature as in 
life, of keeping the best society, reading the best books, 
and wisely admiring and imitating the best things we 
find in them. “ In literature,” said Lord Dudley, “ I 
am fond of confining myself to the best company which 
consists chiefly of my old acquaintance, with whom I 
am desirous of becoming more intimate ;,and I suspect 
that nine times out of ten it is more profitable, if not 
more agreeable to read an old book over again, than to 
read a new one for the first time.” 

Sometimes a book containing a noble examplar of 
life, taken up at random, merely with the object of 
reading it as a pastime, has been known to call forth 
energies whose existence had not before been suspected. 
Loyola, when a soldier serving at the siege of Pampe- 
luna, and laid up by a dangerous wound in his leg, 
asked for a book to divert his thoughts: the “ Lives of 
the Saints” was brought to him, and its perusal so in¬ 
flamed his mind, that he determined thenceforth to de¬ 
vote himself to the founding of a religious order. 
Luther, in like manner, was inspired to undertake the 
great labors of his life by a perusal of the “ Life and 
Writings of John Huss.” Dr. Wolff was stimulated 
to enter upon his missionary career by reading the 
“ Life of Francis Xavier;” and the book fired his youth- 


How Greatness is Attained . 


597 


ful bosom with a passion the most sincere and ardent to 
devote himself to the enterprise of his life. William 
Carey also got the first idea of entering upon his su¬ 
blime labors as a missionary from a perusal of the voy¬ 
ages of Captain Cook. 

Of Condorcet’s “ Eloge of Haller,” Horner said: “I 
never rise from the account of such men without a sort 
of thrilling palpitation about me, which I know not 
whether I should call admiration, ambition or despair.” 
And speaking of the “Discourses” of. Sir Joshua 
Reynolds, he said: “ Next to the writings of Bacon, 
there is no book which has more powerfully impelled 
me to self-culture. He is one of the first men of 
genius who has condescended to inform the world of 
the steps by which greatness is attained. The con¬ 
fidence with which he asserts the omnipotence of hu¬ 
man labor has the effect of familiarizing his reader 
with the idea that genius is an acquisition rather than 
a gift; whilst with all there is blended so naturally and 
eloquently the most elevated and passionate admiration 
of excellence, that upon the whole there is no book of 
a more inflammatory effect.” It is remarkable that 
Reynolds himself attributed his first passionate im¬ 
pulse towards the study of art, to reading Richardson’s 
account of a great painter; and Hayden was in like 
manner afterwards inflamed to follow the same pur¬ 
suit by reading of the career of Reynolds. Thus 
the brave and inspiring life of one man lights a flame 
in the minds of others of like faculties and impulse; 
and where there is equally vigorous effort, like dis¬ 
tinction and success will almost surely follow. Thus 


598 


Dr. Arnold. 


the chain of example is carried down through time 
in an endless succession of links—admiration excit¬ 
ing imitation, and perpetuating the true aristocracy of 
genius. 

Dr. Arnold was a noble and a cheerful worker, throw¬ 
ing himself into the great business of his life, the 
training and teaching of young ’ men, with his whole 
heart and soul. It is stated in his admirable biography 
that “ the most remarkable thing in the Laleham circle 
was the wonderful healthiness of tone which prevailed 
there, It was a place where a new comer at once 
felt that a great and earnest work was going forward. 
Every pupil was made to feel that there was a work 
for him to do; that his happiness, as well as his duty,, 
lay in doing that work well. Hence an indescribable 
zest was communicated to a young man’s feeling about 
life; a strange joy came over him on discerning that he 
had the means of being useful, and thus of being hap¬ 
py; and a deep respect and ardent attachment sprang 
up towards him who had taught him thus to value 
life and his own self, and his work and mission in the 
world. All this was founded on the breadth and com¬ 
prehensiveness of Arnold’s character, as well as his. 
striking truth and reality; on the unfeigned regard he 
had for work of all kinds, and the sense he had of its 
value, both for the complex aggregate of society and 
the growth and protection of the individual. In all 
this there was no excitement; no predilection for one 
class of work above another; no enthusiasm for any 
one-sided object, but a humble, profound and most re¬ 
ligious consciousness that work is the appointed calling 


Dr. Arnold 


599 


of man on earth; the end for which his various faculties 
■yvere given; the element in which his nature is ordained 
to develop itself, and in which his progressive advance 
towards heaven is to lie.” * 


? 

! 



CHAPTER XXVI. 


CHARACTER—THE TRUE GENTLEMAN. 

“ That which raises a country, that which strengthens a country, and that 
which dignifies a country—that which spreads her power, creates her moral 
influence, and makes her respected and submitted to, bends the heart of mil¬ 
lions, and bows down the pride of nations to her—the instrument of obedience, 
the fountain of supremacy, the true throne, crown, and sceptre of a nation ;— 
this aristocracy is not an aristocracy of blood, not an aristocracy of fashion, not 
an aristocracy of talent only; it is an aristocracy of Character. That is the 
true heraldry of man .”—The London Times 

HE crown and glory of life is Character. It is 
the noblest possession of a man, constituting a 
rank in itself, and an estate in the general good¬ 
will; dignifying every station, and exalting 
every position in society. It exercises a greater power 
than wealth, and secures all the honor without the jeal¬ 
ousies of fame. It carries with it an influence which 
always tells; for it is the result of proved honor, recti¬ 
tude, and consistency—qualities which, perhaps more 
than any other, command the general confidence and 
respect of mankind. 

Character is human nature in its best form. It is 
moral order embodied in the individual. Men of char¬ 
acter are not only the conscience of society, but in every 
well-governed State they are its best motive power; 
for it is moral qualities in the main which rule the world. 
Even in war, Napoleon said, the moral is to the physical 






Individual Character \ 


601 


as ten to one. The strength, the industry, and the 
civilization of nations—all depend upon individual char¬ 
acter; and the very foundations of civil security rest 
upon it. Laws and institutions are but its outgrowth. 
In the just balance of nature, individuals, nations, and 
races, will obtain just so much as they deserve, and no 
more. And as effect finds its cause, so surely does 
quality of character amongst a people produce its be¬ 
fitting results. 

Though a man have comparatively little culture, 
slender abilities, and but small wealth, yet, if his char¬ 
acter be of sterling worth, he will always command an 
influence, whether it be in the workshop, the counting- 
house, the mart, or the senate. Canning wisely wrote 
in 1801 , “My road must be through Character to 
Power; I will try no other course; and I am sanguine 
enough to believe that this course, though not perhaps 
the quickest, is the surest.” You may admire men of 
intellect; but something more is necessary before you 
will trust them. Hence Lord John Russell once ob¬ 
served in a sentence full of truth, “ It is the nature of 
party in England to ask the assistance of men of genius, 
but to follow the guidance of men of character.” This 
was strikingly illustrated in the career of the late 
Francis Horner—a man of whom Sidney Smith said 
that the Ten Commandments were stamped upon his 
countenance. “ The valuable and peculiar light,” says 
Lord Cockburn, “ in which his history is calculated to 
inspire every right-minded youth, is this. He died at 
the age of thirty-eight; possessed of greater public in¬ 
fluence than any other private man, and admired, be- 


602 Franklin's Integrity of Character . 

loved, trusted, and deplored by all, except the heartless 
or the base. No greater homage was ever paid in Par¬ 
liament to any deceased member. Now let every 
young man ask—how was this attained ? By rank ? 
He was the son of an Edinburgh merchant. By wealth? 
Neither he, nor any of his relations, ever had a super¬ 
fluous sixpence. By office? He held but one, and only 
for a few years, of no influence, and with very little 
pay. By talents? His were not splendid, and he had 
no genius. Cautious and slow, his only ambition was 
to be right. By eloquence? He spoke in a calm, good 
taste, without any of the oratory that either terrifies 
or seduces. By any fascination of manner? His was 
only correct and agreeable. By what, then, was it? 
Merely by sense, industry, good principles, and a good 
heart—qualities which no well-constituted mind need 
ever despair of attaining. It was the force of his char¬ 
acter that raised him; and this character not impressed 
upon him by nature, but formed, out of no peculiarly 
fine elements, by himself. There were many in the 
House of Commons of far greater ability and eloquence. 
But no one surpassed him in the combination of an 
adequate portion of these with moral worth. Hor¬ 
ner was born to show what moderate powers, un¬ 
aided by any thing whatever except culture and good¬ 
ness, may achieve, even when these powers are dis¬ 
played amidst the competition and jealousy of public 
life.” 

Franklin, also, attributed his success as a public man, 
not to his talents or his powers of speaking—for these 
were but moderate—but to his known integrity of 


Value of a Good Name . 608. 

character. Hence it was, he says, u that I had so much 
weight with my fellow-citizens. I was but a bad speaker, 
never eloquent, subject to much hesitation in my choice 
of words, hardly correct in language, and yet I gener¬ 
ally carried my point.” 

The rules of conduct followed by Lord Erskine—a 
man of sterling independence of principle and scrupu¬ 
lous adherence to truth—are worthy of being engraven 
on every young man’s heart. u It was a first command 
and counsel of my earliest youth,” he said, “ always to 
do what my conscience told me to be a duty, and to 
leave the consequences to God. I shall carry with me 
the memory, and I trust the practice, of this parental 
lesson to the grave. I have hitherto followed it, and I 
have no reason to complain that my obedience to it 
has been a temporal sacrifice. I have found it, on the 
contrary, the road to prosperity and wealth, and I shall 
point out the same path to my children for their pur¬ 
suit.” 

Every man is bound to aim at the possession of a 
good character as one of the highest objects of life. 
The very effort to secure it by worthy means will fur¬ 
nish him with a motive of exertion; and his idea of 
manhood, in proportion as it is elevated, will steady and 
animate his motive. It is well to have a high standard 
of life, even though we may not be able altogether to 
realize it. “ The youth,” says Mr. Disraeli, “ who does 
not look up will look down; and the spirit that does 
not soar is destined perhaps to grovel.” He who has 
a high standard of living and thinking will certainly do 
better than he who has none at all. “ Pluck at a gown 


604 


Conscience and Character. 


of gold,” says the Scotch proverb, “ and you may get 
a sleeve o’t.” Whoever tries for the highest results 
can not fail to reach a point far in advance of that from 
which he started; and though the end attained may 
fall short of that proposed, still, the very effort to 
rise of itself can not fail to prove permanently benefi¬ 
cial. 

There is a truthfulness in action as well as in wofds, 
which is essential to uprightness of character. A man 
must really be what he seems or proposes to be. When 
a gentleman wrote to Granville Sharp, that from re¬ 
spect for his great virtues he had named one of his 
sons after him, Sharp replied: “ I must request you to 
teach him a favorite maxim of the family whose name 
you have given him— Always endeavor to he really 
what you would wish to appear. This maxim, as my 
father informed me, was carefully and humbly practiced 
by his father, whose sincerity, as a plain and honest 
man, thereby became the principal feature of his char¬ 
acter, both in public and private life.” Every man who 
respects himself, and values the respect of others, will 
carry out the maxim in act—doing honestly what he 
proposes to do—putting the highest character into his 
work, slighting nothing, but priding himself upon his 
integrity and conscientiousness. 

The true character acts rightly, whether in secret or 
in the sight of men. That boy was well trained who, 
when asked why he did not pocket some pears, for no¬ 
body was there to see, replied, “Yes, there was: I was 
there to see myself; and I don’t intend ever to see my¬ 
self do a dishonest thing.” This is a simple but not 


Importance of Good Habits. 60f> 

inappropriate illustration of principle, or conscience, 
dominating in the character, and exercising a noble 
protectorate over it; not merely a passive influence, but 
an active power regulating the life. Such a principle 
goes on moulding the character hourly and daily, grow¬ 
ing with a force that operates every moment. With¬ 
out this dominating influence, character has no protec¬ 
tion, but is constantly liable to fall away before tempta¬ 
tion; and every such temptation succumbed to, every 
act of meanness or dishonesty, however slight, causes 
self-degradation. 

And here it may be observed how greatly the char¬ 
acter may be strengthened and supported by the culti¬ 
vation of good habits. Man, it has been said, is a bun¬ 
dle of habits, and habit is second nature. Metastasio 
entertained so strong an opinion as to the power of rep¬ 
etition in act and thought, that he said, “ All is habit 
in mankind, even virtue itself” Butler, in his “Anal¬ 
ogy,” impresses the importance of careful self-disci¬ 
pline and firm resistance to temptation, as tending to 
make virtue habitual, so that at length it may become 
more easy to do good than to give way to sin. “ As 
habits belonging to the body,” he said, “ are produced 
by external acts, so habits of the mind are produced 
by the execution of inward practical purposes, i. e., 
carrying them into act, or acting upon them—the prin¬ 
ciples of obedience, veracity, justice and charity.” 
And again, Lord Brougham says, when enforcing the 
immense importance of training and example in youth, 
“ I trust everything, under God, to habit, on which, in 
all ages, the lawgiver as well as the schoolmaster, has 


606 


Guarding Against Evil Habits. 

mainly placed his reliance; habit, which makes every¬ 
thing easy, and casts the difficulties upon the deviation 
from a wonted course.” Thus making sobriety a habit, 
and intemperance will be hateful; make prudence a 
habit, and reckless profligacy will become revolting to 
every principle of conduct which regulates the life of 
the individual. Hence the necessity for the greatest 
care and watchfulness against the inroad of any evil 
habit; for the character is always weakest at that point 
at which it has once given way, and it is long before a 
principle restored can become so firm as one that has 
never been moved. It is a fine remark of a Russian 
writer, that “Habits are a necklace of pearls; untie the 
knot, and the whole unthreads.” 

Wherever formed, habit acts involuntarily, and with¬ 
out effort, and it is only when you oppose it that you 
find how powerful it has become.. What is done once 
and again, soon gives facility and proneness. The habit 
at first may seem to have no more strength than a spi¬ 
der’s web, but once formed, it binds as with a chain of 
iron. The small events of life, taken singly, may seem 
exceedingly unimportant, like snow that falls silently, 
flake by flake, yet accumulated, these snowflakes form 
the avalanche. 

Self-respect, self-help, application, industry, integrity 
—all are of the nature of habits, not beliefs. Princi¬ 
ples, in fact, are but the names which we assign to hab¬ 
its; for the principles are words, but the habits are the 
things themselves; benefactors or tyrants, according as 
they are good or evil. It thus happens as we grow 
older, a portion of our free activity and individuality 


Habits Constitute Character. 607 

becomes suspended in habit, our actions become of the 
nature of fate, and we are bound by the chains which 
we have woven around ourselves. 

It is indeed scarcely possible to over-estimate the im¬ 
portance of training the young to virtuous habits. In 
them they are the easiest formed, and when formed, 
they last for life; like letters cut on the bark of a tree, 
they grow and widen with age. “ Train up a child in 
the way he should go, and when he is old he will not 
depart from it.” “Remember,” said Lord Colling- 
wood to a young man whom he loved, “ before you are 
five-and-twenty you must establish a character that 
will serve you all your life.” As habit strengthens 
with age, and character becomes formed, any turning 
into a new path becomes more and more difficult. 
Hence, it is often harder to unlearn than to learn, and 
for this reason the Grecian flute-player was justified 
who charged double fees to those pupils who had been 
taught by an inferior master. To uproot an old habit 
is sometimes a more painful thing, and vastly more dif¬ 
ficult than to wrench out a tooth. Try and reform 
a habitually indolent, or improvident, or drunken per¬ 
son, and in a large majority of cases you will fail. For 
the habit in each case has wound itself in and through 
life until it has become an integral part of it, and can¬ 
not be uprooted. 

As daylight can be seen through very small holes, 
so little things will illustrate a person’s character. In¬ 
deed, character consists in little acts, well and honor¬ 
ably performed; daily life being the quarry from which 
we build it up, and rough-hew the habits which form 


608 


Morals and Manners . 


it. One of the most marked tests of character is the 
manner in which we conduct ourselves towards others. 
A graceful behavior towards superiors, inferiors, and 
equals, is a constant source of pleasure. It pleases 
others because it indicates respect for their personality; 
but it gives tenfold more pleasure to ourselves. Every 
man may, to a large extent, be a self-educator in good 
behavior, as in every thing else; he can be civil and 
kind, if he will, though he have not a penny in his 
purse. Gentleness in society is like the silent influence 
of light, which gives color to all nature; it is far more 
powerful than loudness or force, and far more fruitful. 
It pushes its way quietly and persistently, like the 
tiniest daffodil in spring, which raises the clod and 
thrusts it aside by the simple persistency of growing. 

Morals and manners, which give color to life, are of 
much greater importance than laws, which are but 
their manifestations. The law touches us here and 
there, but manners are about us everywhere, pervading 
society like the air we breathe. Good manners, as we 
call them, are neither more nor less than good behavior ; 
consisting of courtesy and kindness; benevolence being 
the preponderating element in all kinds of mutually 
beneficial and pleasant intercourse amongst human be¬ 
ings. “ Civility,” said Lady Montague, “costs noth¬ 
ing and buys every thing.” The cheapest of .all things 
is kindness, its exercise requiring the least possible 
trouble and self-sacrifice. u Win hearts,” said Bur¬ 
leigh to Queen Elizabeth, “ and you have all men’s 
hearts and purses.” If we would only let nature act 
kindly, free from affectation and artifice, the results on 


609 


Anecdote of Abernethy . 

social good humor and happiness would be incalculable. 
The little courtesies which form the small change of 
life, may separately appear of little intrinsic value, but 
they acquire their importance from repetition and ac¬ 
cumulation. They are like the spare minutes, or the 
groat a day, which proverbially produce such momen¬ 
tous results in the course of a year or in a lifetime. 

Manners are the ornament of action; and there is a 
way of speaking a kind word, or of doing a kind thing, 
which greatly enhances their value. What seems to 
be done with a grudge, or as an act of condescension, 
is scarcely accepted as a favor. Yet there are men 
who pride themselves upon their gruffness; and though 
they may possess virtue and capacity, their manner is 
often such as to render them almost insupportable. It 
is difficult to like a man who, though he may not pull 
your nose, habitually wounds your self-respect, and 
takes a pride in saying disagreeable things to you. 
There are others who are dreadfully condescending, and 
can not avoid seizing upon every small opportunity of 
making their greatness felt. When Abernethy was 
canvassing for the office of surgeon to St. Bartholomew 
Hospital, he called upon such a person—a rich grocer, 
one of the governors. The great man behind the 
counter seeing the great surgeon enter, immediately 
assumed the grand air towards the supposed suppliant 
for his vote. “ I presume, sir, you want my vote and 
interest at this momentous epoch of your life.” Aber¬ 
nethy, who hated humbugs, and felt nettled at the tone, 
replied: “ No, I don’t: I want a pennyworth of figs; 
come., look sharp and wrap them up; I want to be off!” 

39 


610 


Bear and Forbear . 


The cultivation of manner—though in excess it is 
foppish and foolish—is highly necessary in a person 
who has occasion to negotiate with others in matters 
of business. Affability and good breeding may even 
be regarded as essential to the success of a man in any 
eminent station and enlarged sphere of life; for 
the want of it has not unfrequently been found in a 
great measure to neutralize the results of much indus¬ 
try, integrity, and honesty of character. There are, 
no doubt, a few strong tolerant minds which can bear 
with defects and angularities of manner, and look only 
to the more genuine qualities; but the world at large 
is not so forbearant, and can not help forming its judg¬ 
ments and likings mainly according to outward con¬ 
duct. 

Another mode of displaying true politeness is con¬ 
sideration for the opinions of others. It has been said 
of dogmatism, that it is only puppyism come to its 
full growth; and certainly the worst form this quality 
can assume, is that of opinionativeness and arrogance. 
Let men agree to differ, and, when they do differ, bear 
and forbear. Principles and opinions may be main¬ 
tained with perfect suavity, without coming to blows 
or uttering hard words; and there are circumstances 
in which words are blows, and inflick wounds far less 
easy to heal. As bearing upon this point, we quote an 
instructive little parable spoken some time since by an 
itinerant preacher of the Evangelical Alliance on the 
borders of Wales:—“ As I was going to the hills,” said 
he, “ early one misty morning, I saw something moving- 
on a mountain side, so strange-looking that I took it for 


611 


Kindly Feelings . 

a monster. When I came nearer to it I found it was 
a man. When I came up to him I found he was my 
brother.” 

The inbred politeness which springs from right-heart- 
edness and kindly feelings, is of no exclusive rank or 
station. The mechanic who works at the bench may 
possess it, as well as the clergyman or the peer. It is 
by no means a necessary condition of labor that it 
should, in any respect, be either rough or coarse. The 
politeness and refinement which distinguish all classes 
of the people in many continental countries show that 
those qualities might become ours too—as doubtless 
they will become with increased culture and more gen¬ 
eral social intercourse—without sacrificing any of our 
more genuine qualities as men. From the highest to 
the lowest, the richest to the poorest, to no rank or con¬ 
dition in life has nature denied her highest boon—the 
great heart. There never yet existed a gentleman but 
was lord of a great heart. And this may exhibit itself 
under the hodden gray of the peasant as well as under 
the laced coat of the noble. Robert Burns was once 
taken to task by a young Edinburgh blood, with whom 
he was walking, for recognizing an honest farmer in the 
open street. “ Why, you fantastic gomeral! ” exclaimed 
Burns, “ it was not the great coat, the scone bonnet, 
and the saunders-boot hose that I spoke to, but the man 
that was in them; and the man, sir, for true worth, 
would weigh down you and me, and ten more such, any 
day.” There may be a homeliness in externals, which 
may seem vulgar to those who can not discern the heart 
beneath; but, to the right-minded, character will always 
have its clear insignia. 


61 ’J Diligence and Sobriety. 

William and Charles Grant were the sons of a farmer 
in Inverness-shire, whom a sudden flood stripped of 
every thing, even to the very soil which he tilled. The 
farmer and his sons, with the world before them where 
to choose, made their way southward in search of em¬ 
ployment until they arrived in the neighborhood of 
Bury in Lancashire. From the crown of the hill near 
Walmesley they surveyed the wide extent of country 
which lay before them, the river Irwell making its cir¬ 
cuitous course through the valley. They were utter 
strangers in the neighborhood, and knew not which way 
to turn. To decide their course they put up a stick, 
and agreed to pursue the direction in which it fell* 
Thus their decision was made, and they journeyed on 
accordingly until they reached the village of Rams- 
botham, not far distant. They found employment in a 
print-work, in which William served his apprentice¬ 
ship; and they commended themselves to their em¬ 
ployers by their diligence, sobriety, and strict integrity. 
They plodded on, rising from one station to another, 
until at length the two men themselves became employ¬ 
ers, and after many long years of industry, enterprise, 
and benevolence, they became rich, honored and re¬ 
spected by all who knew them. Their cotton-mills and 
print-works gave employment to a large population. 
Their well-directed diligence made the valley teem 
with activity, joy, health, and opulence. Out of their 
abundant wealth they gave liberally to all worthy ob¬ 
jects, erecting churches, founding schools, and in all 
ways promoting the well-being of the class of working¬ 
men from which they had sprung. They afterwards 


True Bejievolence 


613 


erected, on the top of the hill above Walmesley, a lofty 
tower in commemoration of the early event of their his¬ 
tory which had determined the place of their settle¬ 
ment. The brothers Grant became widely celebrated 
for their benevolence and their various goodness, and 
it is said that Mr. Dickens had them in his mind’s eye 
when delineating the character of the brothers Cheery- 
ble. One amongst many anecdotes of a similar kind 
may be cited to show that the character was by no 
means exaggerated. A Manchester warehouseman pub¬ 
lished an exceedingly scurrilous pamphlet against the 
firm of Grant Brothers, holding up the elder partner to 
ridicule as “ Billy Button.” William was informed by 
some one of the nature of the pamphlet, and his ob¬ 
servation was that the man would live to repent of it. 
u Oh! ” said the libeller, when informed of the remark, 
'‘he thinks that some time or other I shall be in his 
debt; but I will take good care of that.” It happens, 
however, that men in business do not always foresee 
who shall be their creditor, and it so turned out that 
the Grants’ libeller became a bankrupt, and could not 
complete his certificate and begin business again with¬ 
out obtaining their signature. It seemed to him a hope¬ 
less case to call upon that firm for any favor, but the 
pressing claims of his family forced him to make the 
application. He appeared before the man whom he 
had ridiculed as “ Billy Button ” accordingly. He told 
his tale and produced his certificate, “ You wrote a 
pamphlet against us once? ” said Mr. Grant. T-he sup¬ 
plicant expected to see his document thrown into the 
fire; instead of which Grant signed the name of the 


614 


The True Gentleman. 


firm, and thus completed the necessary certificate. 
“ We make it a rule,” said he, handing it back, “ never 
to refuse signing the certificate of an honest tradesman, 
and we have never heard that you were any thing else.” 
The tears started into the man’s eyes. 11 Ah,” con¬ 
tinued Mr. Grant, “ you see my saying was true, that 
you would live to repent writing that pamphlet. I did 
not mean it as a threat—I only meant that some day 
you would know us better, and repent having tried to 
injure us.” “I do, I do, indeed, repent it.” u Well, 
well, you know us now. But how do you get on—what 
are you going to do? ” The poor man stated that he 
had friends who would assist him when his certificate 
was obtained. “ But how are you off in the mean¬ 
time? ” The answer was, that, having given up every 
farthing to his creditors, he had been compelled to stint 
his family in even the common necessaries of life, that 
he might be enabled to pay for his certificate. “ My 
good fellow, this will never do; your wife and family 
must not suffer in this way; be kind enough to take 
this ten-pound note to ^your wife from me; there, there, 
now—don’t cry, it will be all well with you yet; keep 
up your spirits, set to work like a man, and you will 
raise your head among the best of us.” The over¬ 
powered man endeavored with choking utterance to 
express his gratitude, but in vain; and putting his hand 
to his face, he went out of the room sobbing like a child. 

The true gentleman is one whose nature has been 
fashioned after the highest models. It is a grand old 
name, that of gentleman, and has been recognized as a 
rank and power in all stages of society. “ The gentle- 


Gentlemanly Vitalities. 615 

man is always a gentleman,” said the old French gen¬ 
eral to his regiment of Scottish gentry at Rousillon, 
u an d invariably proves himself such in need and in 
danger.” To possess this character is a dignity of it¬ 
self, commanding the instinctive homage of every gen¬ 
erous mind, and those who will not bow to titular rank, 
will yet do homage to the gentleman. His qualities 
depend not upon fashion or manners, but upon moral 
worth—not on personal possessions, but on personal 
qualities. 

Riches and rank have no necessary connection with 
genuine gentlemanly qualities. The poor man may be 
a true gentleman, in spirit and in daily life. He may 
be honest, truthful, upright, polite, temperate, coura¬ 
geous, self-respecting and self-helping—that is, be a true 
gentleman. The poor man with a rich spirit is in all 
ways superior to the rich man with a poor spirit. The 
brave and gentle character may be found under the 
humblest garb. Here is an old illustration, but a fine 
one. Once on a time, when the Adige suddenly over¬ 
flowed its banks, the bridge of Verona was carried 
away with the exception of the center arch, on which 
stood a house, whose inhabitants supplicated help from 
the windows, while the foundations were visibly giving 
way. u I will give a hundred French louis,” said the 
Count Spolverini, who stood by, “ to any person who 
will venture to deliver these poor unfortunate people.” 
A young peasant came forth from the crowd, seized a 
boat and pushed into the stream. He gained the pier, 
received the whole family into the boat, and made for 
the shore, where he landed them in safety. “ Here 


6L6 Intrepidity of Deal Boatmen . 

is your money, my brave young fellow,” said the 
count. “ No,” was the answer of the }^oung man, 
“ I do not sell my life; give the money to this poor 
family, who have need of it.” Here spoke the true 
spirit of the gentleman, though he was in the garb of 
a peasant. 

Not less touching was the heroic conduct of a party 
of Deal boatmen in rescuing the crew of a collier-brig 
in the Downs but a short time ago. A sudden storm 
which set in from the northeast drove several ships 
from their anchors, and it being low water, one of them 
struck the ground at a considerable distance from the 
shore, when the sea made a clean breach over her. 
There was not a vestige of hope for the vessel, such 
was the fury of the wind and the violence of the 
waves. There was nothing to tempt the boatmen on 
shore to risk their lives in saving either ship or crew, 
for not a farthing of salvage was to be looked for. But 
the daring intrepidity of the Deal boatmen was not 
wanting at this critical moment. No sooner had the 
brig grounded than Simon Pritchard, one of the many 
persons assembled along the beach, threw off his coat 
and called out, u Who will come with me and try to 
save that crew?” Instantly twenty men sprang for¬ 
ward with “I will,” “ and I.” But seven only were 
wanted; and running down a galley-punt into the surf, 
they leaped in and dashed through the breakers, amidst 
the cheers of those on shore. How the boat lived in 
such a sea seemed a miracle; but in a few minutes, im¬ 
pelled by the strong arms of these gallant men, she 
flew on and reached the stranded ship, “ catching her 


Exercise of Personal Power. 617 

on the top of a wave;” and in less than a quarter of 
an hour from the time the boat left the shore, the six 
men who composed the crew of the collier were landed 
safe on Walmer Beach. A nobler instance of indomi¬ 
table courage and disinterested heroism on the part of 
the Deal boatmen—brave though they are always 
known to be—perhaps can not be cited; and we have 
pleasure in here placing it on record. 

There are many tests by which a gentleman may be 
known; but there is one that never fails—How does 
he exercise 'power over those subordinate to him ? How 
does he conduct himself towards women and children? 
How does the officer treat his men, the employer his 
servants, the master his pupils, and man in every sta¬ 
tion those who are weaker than himself? The discre¬ 
tion, forbearance, and kindliness with which power in 
such cases is used, may indeed be regarded as the 
crucial test of gentlemanly character. When La Motte 
was one day passing through a crowd, he accidentally 
trod upon the foot of a young fellow, who forthwith 
struck him on the face: “Ah, sir,” said La Motte, “you 
will surely be sorry for what you have done, when you 
know that I am blind.” He who bullies those who 
are not in a position to resist may be a snob, but can 
not be a gentleman. He who tyrannizes over the weak 
and helpless may be a coward, but no true man. The 
tyrant, it has been said is but a slave turned inside 
out. 

Gentleness is indeed the best test of gentlemanliness. 
A consideration for the feelings of others, for his infer¬ 
iors and dependents as well as his equals, and respect 


618 


Considerate of Others. 


for their self-respect, will pervade the true gentleman’s 
whole conduct. He will rather himself suffer a small 
injur} 7 , than by an uncharitable construction of another’s 
behavior, incur the risk of committing a great wrong. 
He will be forbearant of the weaknesses, the failings, 
and the errors, of those whose advantages in life have 
not been equal to his own. He will be merciful even 
to his beast. He will not boast of his wealth, or his 
strength, or his gifts. He will not be puffed up by 
success, or unduly depressed by failure. He will not 
obtrude his views upon others, but speak his mind freely 
when occasion calls for it. He will not confer favors 
with a patronizing air. Sir Walter Scott once said of 
Lord Lothian, “ He is a man from whom one may re¬ 
ceive a favor, and that’s saying a great deal in these 
days.” 

Lord Chatham has said that the gentleman is char¬ 
acterized by his sacrifice of self and preference of others 
to hknself in the little daily occurrences of life. In 
illustration of this ruling spirit of considerateness in a 
noble character, we may cite the anecdote of the gal¬ 
lant Sir Ralph Abercrombie, of whom it is related, that 
when mortally wounded in the battle of Aboukir, he 
was carried in a litter on board the ship; and, to ease 
his pain, a soldier’s blanket was placed under his head, 
from which he experienced considerable relief. He 
asked what it was. “ It’s only a soldier’s blanket,” 
was the reply. “ Whose blanket is it?” said he, half 
lifting himself up. “ Only one of the men’s.” “ I 
wish to know the name of the man whose blanket it is.” 
“ It is Duncan Roy’s of the q 2 d, Sir Ralph.” “ Then 


Sydney at Zutphen. 


619 


see that Duncan Roy gets his blanket this very night.” 
Even to ease his dying agony the general would not 
deprive the private soldier of his blanket for one night. 
The incident is as good, in its way, as that of the dying 
Sydney handing his cup of water to the private soldier 
on the field of Zutphen. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 


THE DISCIPLINE OF EXPERIENCE. 

“ Be the day weary, or be the day long, 

At length it ringeth to evensong .”—Ancient Couplet. 

RACTICAL wisdom is only to be learned in 
the school of experience. Precepts and in¬ 
structions are useful so far as they go, but, 
without the discipline of real life, they remain 
of the nature of theory only. The hard facts of exist¬ 
ence have to be faced, to give that touch of truth to 
character which can never be imparted by reading or 
tuition, but only by contact with the broad instincts of 
common men and women. 

To be worth any thing, character must be capable of 
standing firm upon its feet in the world of daily work, 
temptation and trial; and able to bear the wear-and- 
tear of actual life. Cloistered virtues do not count for 
much. The life that rejoices in solitude may be only 
rejoicing in selfishness. Seclusion may indicate con¬ 
tempt for others; though more usually it means indo¬ 
lence, cowardice, or self-indulgence. To every human 
being belongs his fair share of manful toil and human 
duty; and it can not be shirked without loss to the indi¬ 
vidual himself, as well as to the community to which 
he belongs. It is only by mixing in the daily life of 






The School of Experience. 621 

the world, and taking part in its affairs, that practical 
knowledge can be acquired and wisdom learned. It is 
there that we find our chief sphere of duty, that we 
learn the discipline of work, and that we educate our¬ 
selves in that patience, diligence, and endurance which 
shape and consolidate the character. There we en¬ 
counter the difficulties, trials, and temptations which, 
according as we deal with them, give a color to our 
entire after-life; and there, too, we become subject to 
the great discipline of suffering, from which we learn 
far more than from the safe seclusion of the study or 
the cloister. Contact with others is also requisite to 
enable a man to know himself. It is only by mixing* 
freely in the world that one can form a proper estimate 
of his own capacity. Without such experience, one is 
apt to become conceited, puffed up, and arrogant; at 
all events, he will remain ignorant of himself, though 
he may heretofore have enjoyed no other company. 

Any one who would profit by experience will never 
be above asking help. He who thinks himself already 
too wise to learn of others, will never succeed in doing 
any thing either good or great. We have to keep our 
minds and hearts open, and never be ashamed to learn, 
with the assistance of those who are wiser and more 
experienced than ourselves. 

The man made wise by experience endeavors to judge 
correctly of the things which come under his observa¬ 
tion, and form the subject of his daily life. What we 
call common sense is, for the most part, but the result 
of common experience wisely improved. Nor is great 
ability necessary to acquire it, so much as patience, ac- 


622 


The School of Life. 


curacy, and watchfulness. Hazlitt thought the most 
sensible people to be met with are intelligent men of 
business and of the world, who argue from what they 
see and know, instead of spinning cobweb distinctions 
of what things ought to be. 

For the same reason, women often display more good 
sense than men, having fewer pretentions, and judging 
of things naturally, by the involuntary impression they 
make on the mind. Their intuitive powers are quicker, 
their perceptions more acute, their sympathies more 
lively, and their manners more adaptive to particular 
ends. Hence their greater tact as displayed in the 
management of others, women of apparently slender 
intellectual powers often contriving to control and regu¬ 
late the conduct of men of even the most impracticable 
nature. Pope paid a high compliment to the tact and 
good sense of Mary, Queen of William III., when he 
described her as possessing, not a science, but (what 
was worth all else) prudence. 

The whole of life may be regarded as a great school 
of experience, in which men and women are the pupils. 
As in a school, many of the lessons learned there must 
needs be taken on trust. We may not understand them, 
and may possibly think it hard that we have to learn 
them, especially where the teachers are trials, sorrows, 
temptations, and difficulties; and yet we must not only 
accept their lessons, but recognize them as being divinely 
appointed. 

The results of experience are, of course, only to be 
achieved by living; and living is a question of time. 
The man of experience learns to rely upon Time as his 


623 


Youthful Ardor. 

helper. u Time and I against any two,” was a maxim 
of Cardinal Mazarin. Time has been described as a 
beaufifier and as a consoler; but it is also a teacher. It 
is the food of experience, the soil of wisdom. It may 
be the friend or the enemy of youth; and Time will sit 
beside the old as a consoler or as a tormentor, accord¬ 
ing as it has been used or misused, and the past life has 
been well or ill spent. 

“ Time,” says George Herbert, “ is the rider that 
breaks youth.” To the young, how bright the new 
world looks!—how full of novelty, of enjoyment, of 
pleasure! But as years pass, we find the world to be 
a place of sorrow as well as of joy. As we proceed 
through life, many dark vistas open upon us—of toil, 
suffering, difficulty, perhaps misfortune and failure. 
Happy they who can pass through and amidst such trials 
with a firm mind and pure heart, encountering trials 
with cheerfulness, and standing erect beneath even the 
heaviest burden! 

A little youthful ardor is a great help in life, and is 
useful as an energetic motive-power. It is gradually 
cooled down by Time, no matter how glowing it has 
been, while it is trained and subdued by experience. 
But it is a healthy and hopeful indication of character 
—to be encouraged in a right direction, and not to be 
sneered down and repressed. It is a sign of a vigor¬ 
ous, unselfish nature, as egotism is of a narrow and 
selfish one; and to begin life with egotism and self- 
sufficiency is fatal to all breadth and vigor of character. 
Life, in such a case, would be like a year in which there 
was no spring. Without a generous seed-time, there 


624 


Romance and Reality. 


will be an unflowering summer and an unproductive 
harvest. And youth is the spring-time of life, in which, 
if there be not a fair share of enthusiasm, little will be 
attempted, and still less done. It also considerably 
helps the working quality, inspiring confidence and 
hope, and carrying one through the dry details of busi¬ 
ness and duty with cheerfulness and joy. 

u It is the due admixture of romance and reality,” 
said Sir Henry Lawrence, “ that best carries a man 
through life * * * The quality of romance or en¬ 

thusiasm is to be valued as an energy imparted to the 
human mind to prompt and sustain its noblest efforts.” 
Sir Henry always urged upon young men, not that 
they should repress enthusiasm, but sedulously culti¬ 
vate and direct the feeling, as one implanted for wise 
and noble purposes. “ When the two faculties of ro¬ 
mance and reality,” he said, u are duly blended, reality 
pursues a straight, rough path to a desirable and prac¬ 
ticable result; while romance beguiles the road by 
pointing out its beauties—by bestowing a deep and 
practical conviction that, even in this dark and material 
existence, there may be found a joy with which a 
stranger intermeddleth not—a light that shineth more 
and more into the perfect day.” 

The apprenticeship of difficulty is one which the 
greatest of men have had to serve. It is usually the 
best stimulus and discipline of character. It often 
evokes powers of action that, but for it, would have 
remained dormant. As comets are sometimes revealed 
by eclipses, so heroes are brought to light by sudden 
calamity. It seems as if, in certain cases, genius, like 


Poverty a Stimulus. 


625 


iron struck by the flint, needed the sharp and sudden 
blow of adversity to bring out the divine spark. There 
are natures which blossom and ripen amidst trials, 
which would only wither and decay in an atmosphere 
of ease and comfort. Thus it is good for men to be 
roused into action and stiffened into self-reliance by 
difficulty, rather than to slumber away their lives in 
useless apathy and indolence. It is the struggle that 
is the condition of victory. If there were no diffi¬ 
culties, there would be no need of efforts; if there were 
no temptations, there would be no training in self-con¬ 
trol, and but little merit in virtue; if there were no 
trial and suffering, there would be no education in 
patience and resignation. Thus difficulty, adversity, 
and suffering are not all evil, but often the best source 
of strength, discipline and virtue. 

The Spaniards are even said to have meanly rejoiced 
in the poverty of Cervantes, but for which they sup¬ 
posed the production of his great works might have 
been prevented. When the Archbishop of Toledo vis¬ 
ited the French ambassador at Madrid, the gentlemen 
in the suite of the latter expressed their high admira¬ 
tion of the writings of the author of 1 Don Quixote,” 
and intimated their desire of becoming acquainted with 
one who had given them so much pleasure. The an¬ 
swer they received was, that Cervantes had borne arms 
in the service of his country, and was now old and 
poor. “ What! ” exclaimed one of the Frenchmen “ is 
not Senor Cervantes in good circumstances? Why is 
he not maintained, then, out of the public treasury? ” 
“ Heaven forbid! ” was the reply, “ that his necessities 


40 


626 


The Lessons of Failure . 


should be ever relieved, if it is those which make him 
write; since it is his poverty that makes the world 
rich! ” 

“ I remember,” says Northcote, “ when Mr. Locke, 
of Newbury Park, first came over from Italy, and old 
Dr. Moore, who had a very high opinion of him, was 
crying up his drawings and asked me if I did not think 
he would make a great painter. I said, 4 No, never! ’ 

4 Why not? ’ 1 Because he has six thousand a year!’ ” 

No doubt Thomas Gray would have given us many 
other literary productions equal or superior to his 
“ Elegy ” had he been persecuted by “ the stings and 
arrows of an outrageous fortune,” instead of being pos¬ 
sessed of a patrimony which enabled him to follow a 
life of retirement, devoting most of his time to literary 
acquisition. He possessed one of the best stored minds 
of his age. His “ Elegy, written in a country church¬ 
yard,” is of itself sufficient to immortalize his name. 
It was written immediately after his return from a long 
journey abroad, in which he wandered over much of 
Europe. The changes which his few years of absence 
wrought among those he had been accustomed to meet, 
flushed with life’s hopes and u busy cares ”—the reminis¬ 
cences called up by the newly made inscriptions in the 
old familiar church-yard—no doubt gave inspiration to 
the now familiar lines. 

It is a mistake to suppose that men succeed through 
success; they much oftener succeed through failure. 
By far the best experience of men is made up of their 
remembered failures in dealing with others in the af¬ 
fairs of life. Such failures, in sensible men, incite to 







HC 
































































































































































































































































. 


. 







































































































































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. 




•vfty.v 


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•ife; 









































*- 











Adversity a Touchstone. 


627 


tetter selt-maii^gyment, and greater tact and self-con¬ 
trol, as a means of avoiding than ih“tKe^tiLure. Ask 
the diplomatist,, and he will tell you that he has learned 
his art through being baffled, defeated, thwarted, and 
circumvented, far more than from having succeeded. 
Precept, study, advice, and example could never have 
taught them so well as failure has done. It has dis¬ 
ciplined them experimentally, and taught them what to 
do as well as what not to do—which is often still more 
important in diplomacy. 

Many have to make up their minds to encounter 
failure again and again before they succeed; but if they 
have pluck, the failure will only serve to rouse their 
courage, and stimulate them to renewed efforts. Talma, 
the greatest of actors, was hissed off the stage when 
he first appeared on it. Lacordaire, one of the greatest 
preachers of modern times, only acquired celebrity 
after repeated failures. Montalembert said of his first 
public appearance in the Church of St. Roche: “He 
failed completely, and, on coming out, every one said, 
4 Though he may be a man of talent, he will never be 
a preacher.’ ” Again and again he tried, until he suc¬ 
ceeded; and only two years after his dehut , Lacordaire 
was preaching in Notre Dame to audiences such as few 
French orators have addressed since the time of Bossuet 
and Masillon. 

Thus, it is not ease and facility that tries men and 
brings out the good that is in them, so much as trial and 
difficulty. Adversity is the touch-stone of character. 
As some herbs need to be crushed to give forth their 
sweetest odor, so some natures must be tried by suf- 


628 Is Happiness an Illusion? 

fering to evoke the excellence that is in them. Hence 
trials often unmask virtues, and bring to light hidden 
graces. Men apparently useless and purposeless, when 
placed in positions of difficulty and responsibility, have 
exhibited powers of character before unsuspected; and 
where we before saw only pliancy and self-indulgence, 
we now see strength, valor, and self-denial. 

As there are no blessings which may not be per¬ 
verted into evils, so there are no trials which may not 
be converted into blessings. All depends on the man¬ 
ner in which we profit by them or otherwise. Perfect 
happiness is not to be looked for in this world. If it 
could be secured, it would be found profitless. The 
hollowest of all gospels is the gospel of ease and com¬ 
fort. Difficulty, and even failure, are far better teachers. 
Sir Humphrey Davy said: “Even in private life, too 
much prosperity either injures the moral man, and oc¬ 
casions conduct which ends in suffering, or it is accom¬ 
panied by the workings of envy, calumny, and malevo¬ 
lence of others.” 

Life, all sunshine without shade, all happiness without 
sorrow, all pleasure without pain, were not life at all— 
at least not human life. Take the lot of the happiest 
—it is a tangled yarn. It is made up of sorrows and 
joys; and the joys are all the sweeter because of the 
sorrows; bereavements and blessings, one following an¬ 
other, making us sad and blessed by- turns. Even 
death itself makes life more loving; it binds us more 
closely together while here. Dr. Thomas Browne has 
argued that death is one of the necessary conditions of 
human happiness, and he supports his argument with 



629 


The Mystery of Life . 

great force and eloquence. But when death comes 
into a household, we do not philosophize—we only feel. 
The eyes that are full of tears do not see; though in 
course of time they come to see more clearly and 
brightly than those that have never known sorrow. 
The wise person gradually learns not to expect too 
much from life. While he strives for success by worthy 
methods, he will be prepared for failures. He will keep 
his mind open to enjoyment, but submit patiently to 
suffering. Wailings and complainings of life are never 
of any use; only cheerful and continuous working in 
right paths are of real avail. 

Nor will the wise man expect too much from those 
about him If he would live at peace with others, he 
will bear and forbear. And even the best have often 
foibles of character which have to be endured, sympa¬ 
thized with, and perhaps pitied. Who is perfect? Who 
does not suffer from some thorn in the flesh? Who 
does not stand in need of toleration, of forbearance, of 
forgiveness? What the poor imprisoned Queen Caro¬ 
line Matilda, of Denmark, wrote on her chapel-window 
ought to be the prayer of all—“ Oh! keep me innocent! 
make others great.” 

Then, how much does the disposition of every human 
being depend upon their innate constitution and their 
•early surroundings; the comfort or discomfort of the 
homes in which they have been brought up; their in¬ 
herited characteristics; and the examples, good or bad, 
to which they have been exposed through life! Regard 
for such considerations should teach charity and for¬ 
bearance to all men. 


630 Duty the Aim and End of Life . 

At the same time, life will always be to a large ex¬ 
tent what we ourselves make it. Each mind makes its 
own little world. The cheerful mind makes it pleasant, 
and the discontented mind makes it miserable. “ My 
mind to me a kingdom is,” applies alike to the peasant 
as to the monarch. The one may be in his heart a 
king, as the other may be a slave.. Life is for the most 
part but the mirror of our own individual selves. Our 
mind gives to all situations, to all fortunes, high or low, 
their real characters. To the good, the world is good;; 
to the bad, it is bad. If our views of life be elevated 
—if we regard it as a sphere of useful effort, of high 
living and high thinking, of working for others’ good 
as well as our own—it will be joyful, hopeful, and 
blessed. If, on the contrary, we regard it merely as- 
affording opportunities for self-seeking, pleasure, and 
aggrandizement, it will be full of toil, anxiety, and dis¬ 
appointment. 

There is much in life that, while in this state, we can 
never comprehend. There is, indeed, a great deal of 
mystery in life—much that we see “as in a glass dark¬ 
ly.” But though we may not apprehend the full mean¬ 
ing of the discipline of trial through which the best 
have to pass, we must have faith in the completeness 
of the design of which our little individual lives form 
a part. We have each to do our duty in that sphere 
of life in which we have been placed. Duty alone is 
true; there is no true action but in its accomplishment. 
Duty is the end and aim of the highest life; the truest 
pleasure of all is that derived from the consciousness 
of its fulfillment. Of all others, it is the one that is 


Duty the Aim and End of Life. 


631 


most thoroughly satisfying, and the least accompanied 
by regret and disappointment. In the words of George 
Herbert, the consciousness of duty performed “gives 
us music at midnight.” 





4 



This above all — to thine own self be true; 

And it must follow, as the night the day, 

Thou canst not then be false to any man.” 

Shakespeare. 


“ Might I give counsel to any young man, I would say to him, try to 
frequent the company of your betters. In books and in life, that is the 
most wholesome society; learn to admire rightly; the great pleasure of 
life is that. Note what great men admired; they admired great things; 
narrow spirits admire basely, and worship meanly.”—W. M. Thackeray. 


“ Man is his own star, and the soul that can 
Render an honest and a perfect man 
Commands all light, all influence, all fate; 

Nothing to him falls early or too late. 

Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, 

Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.” 

Beaumont & Fletcher, 




( 632 ) 




«mDGX.» 


A. 

Abauzit, his patience, 517. 

Abbot. Dr., on the character of 
Sackville, 59. 

Abernethy, Dr., anecdote of, 618. 

Ability, speculative and practical, 
162. 

Adams, President, and Washington, 
75; his mother, 105. 

Accuracy, 299, 365. 

Activity, examples of, 364. 

Abercrombie, Sir Ralph, Scott to, 
490. 

Addison, 260; on temper, 571. 

Admiration of the great and good, 
132, 135, 140. 

Adversity, uses of, 311, 627; Gray’s 
want of, 626. 

Albert, Prince, his admiration of 
noble deeds, 136. 

Alfieri, in youth, 326, 328; his ad¬ 
miration of Plutarch, 549. 

Alexander the Great, on hope, 523. 

Alfred, King, his patience and good 
fortune, 523. 

Aiton, Dr., 410. 

Air, pure, 41. 

Amusement, 28. 

Angelo, Michael, 332; and Francis 
de Medicis, 141; and self-help, 
461. 

Anquitil (historian), self denial of, 
480. 

Antisthenes and Diogenes, 460. 

Aristotle, portrait of the magnani¬ 
mous man, 462. 

Aristides, “ The Just,” 385. 


A.— Continued. 

Arnold, Dr., on sel*f-culture, 295, 
326, 333; on personal example, 
128; his influence, 127; on admi, 
ration, 128; on truthfulness, 503; 
on self-education, 598: his cordb 
ality, 515. 

Art, workers in, 332; and nation, 
ality, 540. 541; of living, 11; in 
the house, 35, 36. 

Askew, Anne, martyr, 453. 

Association, influence of good, 124; 
in business, 423. 

Athens, cause of its decline, 85. 

Attica, its smallness and greatness, 
85. 

Augustine, St., his boyhood, 95; his 

- favorite books, 555. 

Audubon, ornithologist, his perse 
verance, 228. 

Australia, mutiny in, 531. 

B. 

Bacon, Lord, 306, 597; his mother, 
104; his notes, 261; on economy, 
380. 

Bacon, Roger, his persecution, 450. 

Banks, sculptor, 336. 

Bannockburn, Douglas and Ran¬ 
dolph at, 486. 

Barclay, David, merchant, his char¬ 
acter and work, 22.7. 

Barrow, Isaac, 328. 

Barry, painter, and Burke, 486. 

Baxter, on leaving his books at 
death, 556; his wife, 580; on time, 
260. 



634 


Index. 


B.— Continued. 

Beautiful, worship of the, 540. 

Beauty, marrying for, 561; of art, 
34. 

Beethoven, 310, 357; and Handel, 
etc., 142. 

Behistun Rock, Persia, 230. 

Belmes sculptor, 531. 

Bell, Sir Charles, on example, 121; 
his discoveries. 452, 267. 

Bentham, Jeremy, 118. 

Beuve, sayings of, 136. 

Biography, lesson of, 546; interest 
of, 548-556; art of, 553; its uses, 
595. 

Bird, artist, 335. 

Black Hole of Calcutta, 41. 

Blucher, Marshal, 279; his promise 
to Wellington, 501. 

Bolingbroke on Marlborough’s 
character, 302. 

Books, companionship of, 544; so¬ 
ciety of, 546,555; inspiration from, 
596; favorite, of great men, 555; 
incentives to youth, 553. 

Borrowing, danger of, 381. 

Boswell and Johnson, 137. 

Brain work, G. Wilson's excessive, 
503, 508. 

Boulton and Watt, 171, 413. 

Bright, John, on frugality, 377. 

Brindley, engineer, 303. 

Bremer, Miss, on the power of evil 
words, 482. 

Brooke, Lord, on the character of 
Sir Philip Sidney, 131. 

Brotherton, Joseph, M. P., 111. 

Brougham, Lord, 184, 605; his 
grandmother, 104. 

Brown, Sir S., 245. 

Browne, Dr. Thomas, on death, 502, 
628. 

Brunei, Sir I. (engineer), on ill na¬ 
ture, 527; a thoughtful observer, 
245. 

Bruno, martyrdom of, 446. 

Buchan, Earl of, 410. 


B.— Continued. 

Bucket, old oaken, 568. 

Buckland, Dr., assailed because of 
his views of geology, 451; his- 
wife as a helper, 574. 

Buffon, Comte de, as student, 232— 
234. 

Burney, Dr., 259. 

Burdett, Sir F., loss of his wife, 574. 

Burke, Edmond, 312; on superfine 
virtues, 60; on the power of vir¬ 
tue, 68; on example, 121, Fox’s 
admiration of, 132; advice to- 
Barry, 487; his married life, 567. 

Burleigh, Lord, 608. 

Burns, Robert, in boyhood, 328; on 
manliness, 63. 

Burton, on causes of melancholy, 
149. 

Burritt, Elihu, 259, 296. 

Business men, 358; success in, 361,. 
159; habits of, necessary for wo¬ 
men, 111; qualities of great men, 
359—36o. 

Buxton, Sir Fowell, philanthropist, 
587; on will, 276, 291, 293. 

Byron, Lord, on Dante, 80; liis- 
mother, 110; his deformity, 553, 

C. 

Caesar, Julius, power of his name, 
78; his authorship and general¬ 
ship, 159; ’'his intrepidity, 459. 

Caesarism, fallacy of, 169. 

Callot, Jacques, artist, 334. 

Callistratus, the inspirer of Demos¬ 
thenes, 140. 

Campbell, Lord, 279. 

Canning, his mother, 104; admira¬ 
tion of Pitt, 143; on character, 
601. 

Carey, William, missionary, 597. 

Carlyle, Thomas, his destroyed MS, 
229; on great men, 78; on Knox, 
78: on Boswell and Johnson, 137; 
on control of speech, 483; his 
wife, 578. 


Index . 


635 


C.— Continued. 

Caroline, Matilda, Queen of Den¬ 
mark, her prayer, 629. 

Capital and workingmen, 402; sav¬ 
ing of, 424. 

Cecil, on method, 366. 

Cervantes, poverty of, 625. 

Chalmers, Rev. Dr., on honesty, 372; 
in boyhood, 328, 591. 

Chambers, William, publisher, 317. 

Character, influence of, 59, 62, 63; 
formation of, 67; and will. 70; 
and reverence, 81; national, 82; 
and the home, 88, 99; and man¬ 
ner, 543; is power, 303. 

Charles V. (of Spain), magnanimity 
of, 461. 

Chateaubriand and Washington, 
131. 

Chatham, Earl of, liis inspiring en¬ 
ergy, 75. 

Chatterton, poet, 298. 

Chaucer, a man of business, 160. 

Cheerfulness, 27, 511, 522. 226. 

Chesterfield, Earl of, on truthful¬ 
ness, 500; on hardening of the 
heart with age, 515. 

Child, the, and the home, 62. 

Childhood, 91. 

Cicero, influence of his works, 386, 
555. 

Civilization and thrift, 400; home 
the school of, 48. 

Clarendon, his character of Hamp¬ 
den, 500. 

Clarke, Adam, 328. 

Clay, Henry, orator, 314. 

Clive, Robert, 329. 

Ch 7 de, Lord, on the character of Sir 
J. Outram, 481. 

Cobbett, William, his courtship and 
, marriage, 583; author, 318. 
(Cobden, Richard, 180; on thrift, 
377; his laboriousness, 144. 

Cock burn, Lord, on character, 601. 

Collingwood, Lord, on mean com¬ 
pany, 607; and duty, 499. 


C.— Continued. 

Coleridge, of Davy, 256. 

Columbus, a careful observer, 246,. 
449. 

Comfortable people, 18. 

Co-operation, successful, 427, 428; 
fruits of, 429; secret of its suc¬ 
cess, 432, 431. 

Corbett, Joseph, 56. 

Companionship, 120, 122; of books,. 

544; in marriage, 557. 

Conscience and duty, 493, 604. 
Consoler, woman as a, 579. 

Control of self, 472. 

Cooper, Thomas, his prison work,. 
554. 

Copernicus, followers of, persecuted, 
447. 

Correggio, and Raphael, 143. 

Cottage life, 15. 

Courage, 445, 615; in women, 464; 

and character, 446. 

Courtesy, example of, 615. 

Cowley, on the influence of exam, 
pie, 94. 

Cromwell, O., and men of con¬ 
science, 72; his mother, 102; liis- 
strength of temper, 477, 483; liis- 
warts, 554. 

Cumberland, Duke of, and Gibbon,. 
535. 

Cunningham, Allen, his admiration 
of Scott, 137. 

Cuneiform inscriptions, 230. 

Curran, J. P., 314; his mother, 105. 
Custom and habit, 459. 

Cuvier, Baron, 257, 268. 

D. 

Daguesseau, Chancellor of France,. 
259. 

Dalton, John, 225, 258. 

Dante, his influence on history, 80,. 
135. 

Darwin, Dr., author, 259. 

Davy, Sir H, 255, 310, 366; on Cole¬ 
ridge, 256; on prosperity, 628. 



636 


Index. 


D.— Continued. 

Deal boatmen, intrepidity of, 616. 

Decision, 277. 

DeMaistre. 226. 

Debt, immorality of, 382. 

Decline of nations, 85. 

Demosthenes bought, 386; fired by 
Callistratus, 140. 

Derby, Earl of, on work, 29. 

Descartes, his views denounced as 
irreligious, 451. 

De Toqueville, on marriage, 572. 

Difficulty, uses of, 313, 294, 310, 312. 

Dick, Robert, geologist, 272. 

Diligence, indispensible, 181, 612. 

Discoveries, not accidental, 243. 

Dirt and immorality, 49. 

Discipline, value of, 473; of suffer¬ 
ing and difficulty, 620. 

Discontent, 521. 

Disraeli, Benjamin, on Cobden, 
144; 187, 602. 

Domestic training, 90. 

Douglas, at Atterburn, 77; at Ban¬ 
nockburn, 461; Catherine, her 
heroic conduct at Perth. 465. 

Duty, 492, 495; sphere of, 59; sus¬ 
taining power of, 61; Washing¬ 
ton, 497; Nelson, 498; the aim 
and end of life, 629, 630. 

Drew, Samuel, shoemaker and met¬ 
aphysician, 181, 376; his origin, 
236; his career, 236-241; his wri¬ 
tings, 241. 

Dunces, illustrious, 327. 

Dyer, Mary, a New England mar¬ 
tyr, 454. 

E. 

Education of women, 58; for mar¬ 
riage, 559, 570. 

Economy and independence, 379; 
of time, 368; of capital, 401, 403, 
409, 418. 

Edgeworth, Mr., 170, 592. 

Edison, Thomas A., 182; discoveries 
of, 183, 184. 


E.— Continued. 

Eldon, Lord, 261. 

Elizabeth, Queen, 608. 

Elliott, Ebinezer, poet, a man of 
business, 157. 

Emerson, on civilization, 95; on 
biography, 548; on love, 566. 

Energy, its influence, 70, 73; con¬ 
tagiousness of, 134; of will, 273, 
460. 

Envy of small minds, 139. 

Epictetus, on principles, 65. 

Erasmus, on books, 555; on Sir 
Thomas More’s domestic life, 566. 

Erskine, Lord, his notes, 261, 104. 

Etruscan pottery, 190, 

Example, power of, 585, 587, 590; 
better than precept, 144; influence 
of, 93; of companions, 120; Dr. 
Arnold, 128; of the great, 135. 

Experience, discipline of, 620. 

F. 

Failure and success, 626. 

Fairfax, Sir J., at the battle of 
Naseby, 461. 

Faith, martyrs of, 453. 

Faraday, inspiration of his friend¬ 
ship, 132; his resolution, 460, 478, 
486; his married life, 569; 255. 

Fawcett, Professor, on co-operation, 
429. 

Favorite books of great men, 548- 
556. 

Fear, ignoble, 462. 

Female education, 58. 

Ferguson, astronomer, 252, 298. 

Fichte, on love, 582. 

Fielding, Henry, his cheerfulness, 
515. 

Flowers, in the home, 31. 

Flaxman, John, sculptor, 340; his 
wife, 344; his studies, 346. 

Food, women, and the art of pre¬ 
paring, 119. 

Foote, Sam, and his mother, 110. 

Forbearance, in speech, 482-485. 


Index. 


637 


F.— Continued. 

Formation of character, 67. 

Fox, C. J., his spirit of honor, 71. 

Foster, John, words of, 394; his 
painstaking, 366, 308, 179. 

Franklin, Benjamin, and electricity, 
250, 253; his integrity, 602, 407, 
595; a man of business, 161; his 
discovery of the nature of light¬ 
ning, 451. 

Frankfurt, Goethe at, 560. 

Franklin, Lady, 466; Sir John, 326. 

Freedom, Thoreau of, 456; and free 
will, 496; and character, 82. 

French, generals risen from the 
ranks, 275; exile, 319; quack, 385; 
politeness of, 329. 

Fry, Mrs., 468. 

Fuller, Andrew, 394. 

G. 

Gainsborough, painter, 334. 

Galileo, 447; his observing faculty, 
244, 245. 

Gal van i and electricity, 250. 

Garfield, James A., career of, 172- 
179; Mrs., 174; elected to the 
Senate, 177; nominated to Presi- 
idency, 178; industry of, 224; se¬ 
cret of his success, 247; college 
days, 249; on margins, 248; re¬ 
sistance to temptation, 388; Col. 
Rockwell of, 537. 

Generosity of great men. 461. 

Genius, definition of, 232, 358. 

Gentleman, the true, 600-614: Aris¬ 
totle on the true, 462. 

Germany, Luther’s influence on, 79. 

Gifford on business and literature, 
161; also, 181, 253. 

Girard, Stephen, on strong tempers, 
477. 

Gladstone, W. E., on Lord Palmer¬ 
ston’s character, 73. 

Goethe, his mother, 107; on human 
weakness, 485; his favorite books, 
547; at Frankfurt, 560. 


G.— Continued. 

Goldsmith and Johnson, 387,533; 
his youth, 329. 

Goodness, diffusion of, 129; inspir. 
ing, 131. 

Good, Dr. Mason, 259. 

Government and individual action, 
166, 167. 

Gray, poet, his mother, 107; his 
“ Elegy in a country churclL 
yard,’’ 626. 

Great men, influences of, 767-80, 
135; their cheerfulness, 574. 

Grant, Ulyssus, in boyhood, 329. 

Grant, William and Charles, 611, 
613. 

Grote, Mr., historian, 360. 

Grecian art, 540, 541. 

Greece, influence of, in history, 76, 
85; in art, 541. 

Greuze, painter, on work, 154. 

Guizot, his courtship and marriage, 
573. 

Gurney, Mr., on indolence, 147. 

Guthrie, Rev. Dr., and John Pounds. 
591. 

H. 

Habits, of thrift, 398; of frugality, 
426; importance of good, 403, 
605, 607. 

Hall, Dr. Marshall, 394; his discov¬ 
eries, 327; his energy, 134; on in¬ 
dolence, 149; on truthfulness, 502; 
on cheerfulness, 513. 

Hamilton, Sir W., and his wife, 576. 

Handel, admiration of, by great 
musicians, 142; his work, 327. 

Happiness, and work, 154; a delu¬ 
sion, 628. 

Harvey, Dr., and his discovery, 452; 
the circulation of the blood, 263. 

Hastings. LadyE., Steele's compli¬ 
ment to, 563. 

Hastings, Warren, 280. 

Hawthorne, Nathaniel, shyness of, 
537; on sexual affection, 564. 


638 


Index . 


H.— Continued. 

Havelock, at Vera, 75. 

Haydn and Porpora, 141; and Han- 
del. 142, 357. 

Haydon, on debt, 381, 415, 577. 

Hazlitt, on business, 358. 

Healthy homes, 38; existence, 39. 

Heathcoat, John, M. P., inventor of 
the bobbin-net machine, 214-217. 

Helps, Arthur, 359; and Hawthorne, 
537; on household life, 568. 

Helping one’s self, 166. 

Herschel, astronomer, his discov 
eries, 268-270. 

Herbert, George, 62; his mother’s 
home rule, 98; her sayings about 
example, 120; George Herbert on 
the good priest’s life, 131; max¬ 
ims of, 483, 523, 623; of good 
mothers, 92. 

Heroes of youth, 138. 

History, and great men, 76; and 
art, 548; and biography, 554. 

Holmes, O.W., on brain women and 
heart women, 568. 

Hogarth, William, painter, 335. 

Home influence, 586; a school of 
character, 88, 98; of manners, 
530; the kingdom of, 565; thrift 
of, 19; order in, 14; living at, 16; 
flowers in, 31; art at, 35, 36; 
healthy, 38; influence of, 42, 91; 
unhealthy, 43; reform in, 47; the 
manufactories of men, 48; and 
civilization, 89. 

Honesty of purpose, 64; of living, 
487; the best policy 370. 

Honor, sense of, 494. 

Hood, Tom, on the influence of 
good books, 555; his wife, 579. 

Hook, Rev. Dr., on work, 227. 

Hope, Thales on, 522; Alexander 
the Great and, 522; Byron on, 522. 

Ilorner, Francis, his father’s advice, 
380; on good company, 299, 594, 
601. 

Howard, John, 288, 330. 


PI.— Continued. 

Household management and busi¬ 
ness habits, 53. 

Huber, naturalist, his wife, 574. 

Humboldt, the brothers, of Sailor, 
41. 

Hume, on moral principles, 65; Jo¬ 
seph, his work and perseverance, 
261. 

Hunter, John, and his discoveries, 
452; anatomist, 265; his patient 
industry, early life, and career, 
310, 261, 262. 

Hutchinson, Col., his truthfulness, 
500. 

Hutton, William, (of Birmingham,) 
161. 

I. 

Idleness, its demoralizing tend¬ 
ency^ 146, 148. 

Ill-temper, Mr. Brunei on, 527. 

Imitation, in childhood, 92; power 
of, 122. 

Immorality, dirt and, 49, 

Inchbald, Mrs., 409. 

Indignation, honest, 484. 

Indian swordsman, 282. 

Individualism and freedom, 166, 
168. 

Industry, necessity of, 148; duty of, 
150; of Sir Walter Scott, 156; 
leaders of, 189; and success, 391, 
362, 258, 21. 

Inspiration of goodness, 135, of 
books, 550-556, 596; of love, 563. * 

Integrity, importance of, 602. 

Inventors, benefits to society, 189. 

Irving, Washington, 421: and Sir 
Walter Scott, 81. 

Italy and Dante, 80. 

J. 

Jackson, Stonewall, in boyhood, 
329. 

James II. (Scotland), courageous 
conduct of his court ladies, 465 



Index. 


639 


J. — Continued. 

Jefferson, and Washington, 76. 

Johnson, Dr., his regard for his 

’ mother, 102; on admiration of 
others, 136, 138; on self-control, 
463; on temper, 475; his cheer¬ 
fulness, 515; his manner, 528; on 
biography, 546; on genius, 251; 
various, 301, 364, 382, 390. 

Jenner, Dr., discoverer of vaccina¬ 
tion, 264. 

Jervis, Admiral, on debt, 383, 279. 

Jerrold, Douglas, of poverty, 433. 

Jones, Sir William, 556. 

K. 

-Kepler, denounced as a heretic, 
448. 

Kergorley, and De Tocqueville, 572. 

Kindness, power of, 520/ 

Kingsley, Canon, on character of 
Sir Sidney Smith, 529. 

Knowledge, right use of, 301, 305; 
of physiology, 52. 

Knox, John, his want of courtesy, 
533. 

L. 

Labor, a blessing, 190; necessity 
of, 147; a condition of enjoyment, 
399. 

Lacordaire, on speech and silence, 
483; his first failure as a preacher, 
627. 

Lamb, Charles, on relief from desk 
drudgery, 154. 

Lamennais’s opinion on will, 275. 

Langdale, Lord, his mother’s influ¬ 
ence, 588; and Sir William Na- . 
pier’s “History,” 134. 

Lavoisier, his wife, 574. 

Lawrence, Sir H., and “ The Happy 
Warrior,” 545; and youthful en¬ 
thusiasm, 624. 

Late learners, 326. 

Layard, Austen, his perseverance, 
231. 


L. — Continued. 

Learning and wisdom, 302, 

Lee, Professor, linguist, 253, his 
perseverance, 323. 

Lee, Rev. William, inventor of the 
stocking loom, 214, 215. 

Leisure, enjoyment of, 150. 

Lewis, Sir G. C., 69; his love of 
literature, 163. 

Leyden, John, his perseverance, 322. 

Life and work, 152; is what we 
make it, 622, 629; making the 
most of, 11; cottage life, 15. 

Little things, importance of, 32. 

Lincoln, resistance to temptation, 
388. 

Literary, men and business, 160 

Linnaeus, naturalist, 360. 

Livingstone, Dr., missionary, 286. 

Living, art of, 11; at home, 16. 

Lindsey, W. I., 179. 

Locke John, on debt, 382; on habit, 
122,626; denounced as a material¬ 
ist, 451; on temper and disposi¬ 
tion in a teacher, 524. 

Loudon, landscape gardner, 235,236. 

Louis XIV., why unable to conquer 
the Dutch, 36. 

Love, sympathetic power of, 563: 
passion of, 562. 

Loyola, Ignatius, 299, 596. 

Luck and pluck, 442. 

Lough, John, sculptor, 415. 

Luther, his poverty, 64; his intrepid 
example, 71; his influence on 
German history, 79; his courage, 
454, 456; Charles the V. at the 
tomb of, 461; his cheerfulness, 
513; his manners, 523. 

Lyndhurst, Lord, on difficulty, 314. 

M. 

Maginn, his improvidence, 489. 

Magnanimous man, the, 461, 462, 
615. 

Maistre, De, on mother’s influence, 

100 . 


640 


Index. 


M —Continued. 

Malcolm, Sir J., his* cheerfulness, 
518. 

Manners, importance of, 23, 524; 
their influence, 608; French, 25. 

Marathon, Themistocles and, 140. 

Marlborough, his patience, 523. 

Marriage, companionship in, 527, 
570. 

Martin, John, artist, 350. 

Marten, Henry, on a well spent life, 
145, 478. 

Martin, Sarah, her prison labors, 
468. 

Martyn, Henry, early influence of a 
companion on, 125. 

Martyrs of science, 447; of faith, 
453~. 

Marvell, Andrew, 289; his integ¬ 
rity, 290. 

Mather, Cotton, his essays, 595. 

Maternal influence, 94. 

Maxims of men as to work, 366; on 
money making, 390. 

Melancholy, causes of, 149. 

Method, 20. 

Melbourne, Lord, and Moore, the 
poet’s son, 361. 

Mendelssohn, on criticism, 311. 

Meyerbeer, musician, 359. 

Michelet, his mother, 109. 

Mill, J. S., 422; dedication to his 
wife, 578; also, 360. 

Miller, Hugh, geologist, his origin, 
181, 370; on work as a teacher, 
270, 271, 298, 389, 413. 

Milton, John, 304. 595; his cheer¬ 
fulness, 514. 

Mirabeau, 308. 

Mohammedans, cleanliness of, 51. 

Models of character, 585, 592. 

Money, its use and abuse, 374, 377, 
425; making and saving, 390, 394, 
395. 

Montaigne, on philosophy and bus¬ 
iness, 378, 161, on biography, 548: 
on Plutarch, 550. 


M.— Continued. 

Miners, distinguished, 411; of Corn¬ 
wall, 427. 

Montalembert, on the Indian rebel¬ 
lion, 627. 

Moreau, Gen., greatest defeat, 311. 

Morals and cookery, 55. 

Moore, Sir John, and the Napiers* 
74; Professor, 317. 

More, Sir Thomas, his gentle na¬ 
ture, 133; his martyrdom, 454; his 
life at home, 566. 

Mosely, Canon, on the diffusiveness* 
of good,129. 

Mothers, influence of, 100; of great 
men, 100; of Cromwell, the 
mother, 102; power of, 588; of 
poets, 106; and nations, 115. 

Motte, La, anecdote, 617. 

Motley, on the princes of the house 
of Nassau, 477. 

Mozart and Handel, 142, 357. 

Mulready, artist, 337. 

Murchispn, Sir Roderick, 272; on 
Lady Franklin, 466. 

Murray, Professor Alexander, 319. 

Music, 30. 

Musicians, 142; industry of, 359. 

N. 

Napier, Sir Charles, 280. 

Napiers, the, their admiration of 
Sir John Moore, 74; their mother, 
102; their love of Plutarch, 549; 
Sir W., his wife, 133,134. 

Napoleon, his character, and on 
will, 277,279, 328,600; his opin¬ 
ion of mother’s influence, 115, 
79; his respect for labor, 153. 

Naseby, Sir T. Fairfax at the battle 
of, 461. 

National character, 82, 499. 

Nations and mothers, 115. 

Naturalists, longevity of, 574 

Nelson, his punctuality, 368; on in-. 
spiration to his followers, 75; and 
duty, 498. 


Index . 


641 


N.— Continued. 

Nervous system, 267. 

Newton, Sir Isaac, sayings of, 224, 
296, 243; his labor, 260, 587; de¬ 
nounced as irreligious, 451. 

Newton, of Olney, influence of his 
mother, 96, 587. 

Nicholson, General, and Sir H. Ed¬ 
wards, 130. 

Nicoll, Robert, poet, 308. 

Niebuhr, Perthes’s estimate of, 131; 
and business, 162. 

Norris, E., philology and business, 
231. 

Northcote, painter, 626. 

O. 

Observation, intelligent, 244, 335. 

Ockham, persecution of, 450. 

Omar, the Caliph, 77. 

Opie, painter, 252. 

Opportunities, art of seeing, 251. 

Order, importance of, 234, 409; in 
the home, 14. 

Outram, Sir J., his self-denial, 481. 

Overwork, 164, 165. 

P. 

Paley, Dr., early influence of an 
associate on, 126. 

Palmerston, Lord, his character, 
73; his cheerfulness; interview 
with Belines, 531. 

Palissey, the potter, career of, 192. 

Parental example, 587. 

Park, Mungo, and the African wo¬ 
man, 560. 

Parker, Theodore, on Socrates, 78. 

Patience, virtue of, 475. 

Patient labor, its results, 232. 

Peel, Sir Robert, statesman, his cul¬ 
tivation of memory, 226. 

Perseverance, its value and results, 
330, 331, 460. 

Penn, William, 457. 

Perthes, Caroline, on useful occu¬ 
pation, 153. 

41 


P.— Continued. 

Persecution of scientific men, 450. 

Perthes, F., on Niebuhr, 131; on 
honest indignation, 484; on cheer¬ 
fulness, 522. 

Pescara, Marquis of, and Vittoria 
Calonna, 494. 

Peter, the hermit, 77. 

Philanthropy of women, 467; of 
Wright, 392. 

Phoenicians, 427. 

Physiology, knowledge of, 52. 

Phocion, “The Good,” 386. 

Pitt, William, and Canning, 143; 
his patience, 475. 

Plato, 360, 496, 563; on force of 
custom, 122. 

Pleasure, pursuit of, 307. 

Pliny, on early Roman industry, 
147. 

Plutarch as a biographer, 459, 549. 

Politeness, 525; and art, 537; na¬ 
tional, 24. 

Pompey, his personal influence, 77. 

Pope, Alexander, 360; as estimated 
by the Guinea trader, 138; his de¬ 
formity, 553; his compliment to 
Queen Mary, 622. 

Porpora and Haydn, 141. 

Potters, illustrious, 190. 

Pounds, John, and Ragged Schools, 
591, 592. 

Poverty, struggles with, 317; and 
pauperism, 406; poverty and self¬ 
culture, 625; Jerrold of, 433. 

Priestly. Dr., 254. 

Progress, national, 168. 

Promptitude, importance of, 278,367. 

Prosperous times, 405. 

Principles and character, 65. 

Prosperity and adversity, 311.- 

Punctuality, 21; importance of, 369. 

Purity of manhood and woman¬ 
hood requisite, 543. 

Purpose, force of, 274. 

Pythagoras, on silence, 483; on self- 
respect. 304-. 


Index. 


642 


Q. 

Qualities of the true wife, 569. 

Qualities of the true gentleman, 615. 

Quincy, Josiali, on the manner of 
Washington, 537. 

R. 

Randolph, John, on mothers influ¬ 
ence, 97. 

Rawlinson, Sir Henry, his perse¬ 
verance, 231. 

Recreation, 29. 

Respectability, true, 396. 

4 t. Reliableness of character, 66. 

Reserve and shyness, 526. 

Reverence for great men, 77. 

Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 298, 332, 597; 
his reverence for Pope, 138. 

Ricliardet, 86. 

Richelieu, 421. 

Richardson, Samuel, 414, 597; and 
business, 161. 

Richter, of Luther, 71. 

Robbia, Luca della, sculptor, 191. 

Rochefoucauld, De la, his maxim 
on friends, 139, on manner, 528. 

Rogers, S., and Dr. Johnson, 138; 
anecdote of his power of love, 519. 

Rome, causes of its decline, 85; art 
and degradation of, 541; Barry 
at, 486. 

Romilly, Sir S., his wife, 574; also, 
187,321, 

Rothschilds, house of, 372, 373. 

Rousseau, of wives, 440. 

Rusk in, on the power of circum¬ 
stances, 67; in search of fine art, 
541. 

Russell, Lord, 361, 376; on charac¬ 
ter, 602. 

S. 

Sales, St. Francis de, on kind 
words, 483. 

Sanitary science, 44. 

Saving, dignity of, 419; savings 
banks, 435. 


S — Continued. 

Scarron, his deformity, 553. 

Scheffer, Ary, his mother, 107, 108; 
on womanly courage, 464. 

Schiller, on mechanical employ¬ 
ment, 158; at Frankfurt, 560. 

Science, and its persecutors, 447. 

Scott, Sir W., 62; on occupation, 
152; his industry, 156; a patient 
worker, 253, 326, 390, 409, 618: 
boyhood, 328; honesty of, 490; his 
cheerfulness, 515; his greatness 
the result of accident, 546; on 
biography, 553. 

Scott, Thomas, 326. 

Sedgwick, and geology, 451. 

Self-control, 458, 472, 479, 483, 527. 

Self-culture, 294, 306, 419. 

Self-denial, 375; of Faraday, 480; 
of Anquetil, 480; want of, 452, 480. 

Self-help, 166. 

Self-respect, 303,529. 

Self-taxation, 407. 

Seneca, on vicious companionship, 
123. 

Sexual affection, 560. 

Shakespeare, 360. 

Sharp, Granville, on character, 604. 

Sharpies, James, artist and black¬ 
smith, 351, 353. 

Sheridan, his want of reliableness, 
67; his gentlemanliness, 71. 

Shyness, characteristic of the Teu¬ 
tonic race, 536. 

Sidney, Sir P., Lord Brooke’s char¬ 
ter of, 131. 

Sincerity, 534. 

Slavery to drink, 408. 

Smith, Dr. Pye, 261. 

Smith, Rev. Sydney, on honest liv¬ 
ing, 227; his cheerfulness, 515. 

Smith, Sir Sydney, 529. 

Smollett, a dyspeptic, 522. 

Society of books, 546; of industrial, 
426. 

Socrates, in the “ Economy’’ of 
Zenoplion. 420. 


Index. 


643 


S.— Continued. 

Southey, Robert, 307; laboriousness 
of, 157. 

Speculative ability, 162. 

Speech and silence, 488. 

Spinola, and the character of the 
Dutch, 86; of Yere, 363. 

Spinoza, persecutions of, 451. 

Stanley, Lord (Earl of Derby), on 
work, 152. 

Steele, Sir R., on women’s charac¬ 
ter, 464; his fine compliment to 
Lady E. Hastings, 563. 

Stephenson, George, perseverance, 
230, 303, 412. 

Sterling, John, 375, 594. 

Stone, Edmond, 253, 298. 

Stothard, painter, 252. 

Stewart, Dugald, his elevating ex¬ 
ample, 128. 

Slrike at Preston, 425; others, 425. 

Success and failure. 422. 

Sully, memoirs, 418. 

Suwarrow, on will, 277. 

Swift, as a boy, 328. 

Syndenham, saying of, 594. 

T. 

Tact and talent, 421; in women, 
530. 

Taste, good, an economist, 530. 

Taylor, Sir II., on practical wisdom, 
66, 375; on marriage, 568. 

Taylor, Jeremy, on reasons for 
cheerfulness, 511. 

Temper, 570; strength of, 476; in 
marriage, 22. 

Temperance, 30. 

Thales, his skill in business, 162, 
359. 

Thoreau, 456. 

Thrift, in the home, 19,398,400, 409; 
conservative, 433. 

Time, value of, 257, 368. 

Titian, his industry, 332. 

Trifles, 365, 299; in biography, 553. 

Truth, martyrs for, 453. 


T.— Continued. 

Truthfulness, esseniial to character, 
492; in living, 503; in action,500. 

Tufnell, Mr., on influence of moth¬ 
ers, 100. 

Turner, artist, 337. 

Tyndall, Professor, on Faraday, 132, 
460,478,486. 

Tyranny, of strong drink, 487. 

U. 

Uncleanness, result of, 45. 

Uses of difficulty, 310; of money, 
374, 377, 404, 434; of biography, 
595. 

V. 

Vasari, 191, 

Vaccination, 264. 

Vesalius, his persecutions, 450. 

Voltaire, on business and literature, 
160. 

W. 

Wallenstein, his business habits, 
159. 

Walton, Isaac, a draper, 130. 

Washing, worship in, 50. 

Washington, George, 283, 311, 369, 
382; power of his name, 75; a 
model man, 80; his mother, 102, 
110; Chateaubriand’s interview 
with, 131; his sense of duty, 497, 
his shyness, 537. 

Watt, James, 170, 212, 253, 310, 326, 
413; his perseverance, 258; a 
thoughtful observer, 245. 

Wedgwood, Josiah, 204, 343. 

Wellington, Duke of, 278; on ac¬ 
counts, 382; his personal influ¬ 
ence, 76; his mother, 102; his 
business qualities, 157: his truth¬ 
fulness, 500, 502. 

West, Benjamin, painter, 586. 

Wesley family, Mrs. Wesley, 106; 
journal, 418. 

Whately, Archbishop, his shyness, 
536. 


644 


Index . 


W.— Continued. 

Wilkes, Jolin, liis winniDg manner, 
532. 

Wilkie, Sir David, 347; kis indus¬ 
try, 249. 

Will, power of, 273; a divine gift, 
493. 

Winkelried, Arnold Von, 285. 

William the Silent, 477; of Orange, 
78. 

Wilson, Professor George, 503, 508. 

Wisdom, 308, 302. 

Wives: wife of the Marquis of Pes¬ 
cara, 494; of Dr. Tocqueville, 
572; of Guizot, 573; of Burke, 
567; of Romilly, 574; of Burdett, 
574; of Galvani, 574; of Lavoisier, 
574; of Buckland, 574; of Huber, 
574; of S»ir William Hamilton, 
576; of J. S. Mill, 578, of Carlyle, 
578; of Faraday, 569; of Blake, 
580; of Heine, 580; of Fichte, 
582; of Cobbet, 583; a helpmeet, 
440; the thrifty, 443. 

Walcot, Dr., his saying on his death¬ 
bed, 97. 

Wolff, Dr., inspired bj' Xavier, 
596. 

Wollaston, Dr., 252. 


W.— Continued. 

Women, 465; business habits of,. 
Ill; education of, 114; elevation 
of character of, 116; their compe¬ 
tition with men, 117; as politi¬ 
cians, 118; ignorance of cookery, 
119; useful occupation necessary, 
530; wives and marriage, 558, 
570; instruction of, 57; power of 
good, 101; De Maistre of, 101. 

Worcester, Marquis of, and steam 
power, 250. 

Wordsworth, 63; and his sister, 133. 

Work, as an educator, 146,158; duty 
of, 151; wholesomeness of, 153, 
165. 

Working-men, Bright to, 377; sav¬ 
ings of, 437; and self-respect, 153. 

Worship, in washing, 50. 

Wright, Thomas, philanthropist^ 
392,591. 

X. 

Xavier, Francis, missionary, 596. 

Y. 

Youthful Ardor, 623. 

Youth, recollections of, 97. 

Young men’s heroes, 138. 

Young, Dr., philosopher, 227, 244. 



























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